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The Shadow falls. 


Old Chateau 


Frontispiece 


See page 30, 



THE 


OLD CHlTEAU. 

744/^) 


BY . 

•4 

HARRIET B. McKEEVER, 

II 

Author op “The Diamond Cross Series,” etc., etc., etc. 



/ 

PHILADELPHIA: 

PRESBYTERIAN PUBLICATION COMMITTEE, 

1331 CHESTNUT STREET. 

NEW YORK : A. D. F. RANDOLPH 4 CO., 770 BROADWAY. 


Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by 
WM. L. HILDEBURN, Treasurer, 
in trust for the. 

PRESBYTERIAN PUBLICATION COMMITTEE, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of 

Pennsylvania. 


Westoott & Thomson 
Stereotypers, Philada. 


This volume is affectionately dedicated to all lovers of 
Protestant truth throughout the United States of America, 
in days when the great apostasy seems gathering strength 
for a fresh, and it may be final onset upon the citadel of 
truth, and when all Christians should know where they 
stand. 








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PREFACE. 


For /acfe in The Old Chateau the author is in- 
debted largely to W. Carlos Martyn’s “ History of the 
Huguenots,” especially in Chapters third, fifth and ninth, 
but in many cases they are so mingled with her own 
remarks that it is not easy to refer exactly to the page. 
She has also drawn largely from “The History of the 
Huguenots,” by Samuel Smiles, especially in connection 
with the settlement in Ireland. She has also introduced 
hymns which may not have been in existence in those 
days, but their tone and spirit suit the times so entirely 
that she deems it justifiable thus to use them. 

It may, perhaps, to some, seem unnecessary to revive 
the memory of horrors so long since passed ; or, the nar- 
rative may be regarded as an exaggerated account of the 
sufferings of those dreadful days; but in consulting the 
records the difficulty was out of such a mass of terrible 
history to choose that which should be used. The author 
has endeavored to make selections from established facts, 
and, while she desires to bring out in bold relief the 
persecuting character of the great apostasy, has tried 
1 * 5 


6 


PEEFACE. 


to deal with these facts not in a hitter or acrimonious 
spirit, or so as to excite evil feelings toward individuals. 
She holds up the two systems, Protestantism and Ko- 
manism, and asks. Which bears the marks of the meek 
and pure Lamb of God? — the proud, the arrogant, the 
intolerant, or the lowly, the loving, the patient, the 
holy? 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER I. 

PAGE 

A Sunny Morning 11 

CHAPTER II. 

The Twins’ Birth-day 26 

CHAPTER III. 

Family Pictures 36 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Vale of Roses 53 

CHAPTER V. 

What they Died for 66 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Huguenot Chapel 80 

7 


8 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER VII. 

PAGE 

A Claimant for the Necklace 92 

CHAPTER VHI. 

The Vintage 106 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Orange Grove 119 

CHAPTER X. 

Among the Lions 134 

CHAPTER XI. 

Mutterings in the Distance 156 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Muffled Face at the Chapel 171 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A Midnight Alarm 185 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The Monastery in the Cevennes 200 


CONTENTS, 


9 


CHAPTEK XV. 

PAGE 

A Breaking Heart 214 

CHAPTER XVI. 

CORALIE 237 

t 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Novitiate 259 

;CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Pilgrimage 276 

CHAPTER. XIX. 

Taking the Veil 293 

CHAPTER XX. 

The Satanic Council 312 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Death-knell of the Huguenots 321 

CHAPTER XXII. ' 

Exile 342 


10 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTEK XXIII. 

PAQB 

The Footprints of “Holy Church” 358 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

My -Native Land, Farewell! 369 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Le Petit Chateau 386 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Historic Statements 398 



The Old ChAteatj. 


CHAPTER I. 

A SUNNY MORNING. 

VER the silent ages, Time with its solemn 
finger is pointing back to the sunny slopes 
of Languedoc, so famed in history, so 
hymned in sweet and plaintive music. 
Living in days when the great principles of the 
Reformation are once more called in question, the 
vision of martyred saints is speaking to us again 
from the dungeon, the rack and the flame, asking 
the Christians of the nineteenth century if they 
are ready to surrender all that is precious and 
holy in their faith to the descendants of those 
who led these martyrs to deaths of torture. 

Among those graced with the halo of a mar- 
tyr’s crown none shine brighter than the sacred 

11 



12 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


band of Huguenots who for five centuries bore 
the cross of persecution. 

Over the gulf of time we stretch out our arms 
of greeting, and with hands upraised to heaven 
join anew in their solemn protest, believing that 
they have not died in vain. 

Back to the plains of Languedoc, and we stand 
before an old chA,teau, for centuries occupied at 
different periods by the ancient race of De Lune- 
ville; frequently closed for years, but in the 
vicissitudes of history again inhabited by de- 
scendants of the same distinguished family. 

It is a singular structure of dark gray stone, 
having two distinct portions — the one, very an- 
cient and dilapidated, once fortified, and bearing 
still the marks of a siege. The small windows 
are mere loopholes, high up in the many turrets, 
and the doorway is entirely barred, for the ancient 
part of the chateau is not used now, being sepa- 
rated from the modern by a moat and drawbridge. 

The more modern building is of gray stone 
also, with its light and airy turrets, its broad 
verandah stretching along the front and back of 
the chateau, and with galleries above. 

Facing a fine lawn, noble trees cast their 
shadows of a century upon the velvet carpet of 


A SUNNY MOKNING. 


13 


soft green grass. The front windows open down 
to the verandah, a spacious hall separates the 
family-rooms in the centre, and along the whole 
hack of the chateau stretches the drawing-room, 
whose windows also open down to the portico 
and look out upon a garden which is reached by 
a terrace descending in several grassy steps. 

Above there is a corridor, which divides the 
sleeping-rooms of the household, and at the end, 
over the drawing-room, is the sitting-room of the 
Countess de Luneville, where she meets her chil- 
dren daily to instruct them all in the truths of 
the Bible, and the girls in needle-work. It is 
the brightest room in the chateau. Its large bay 
window opens on the gallery, from which there 
is not only a view of the garden, its summer- 
houses and winding walks, but beyond of one 
of the most charming landscapes in Languedoc. 
The eye thence roves over gentle slopes, clumps 
of rich woods, whose verdure is always fresh and 
green, picturesque chateaux dotting the landscape, 
and a pretty hamlet of the peasantry, where the 
countess and her children exercise their benevo- 
lence. 

Nor was the background, where a mountain- 
range bounded the horizon, less lovely. 


14 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The garden with its brilliant flowers, none sur- 
passing the £amed rose of Provence, its pond of 
gold and silver fish, its graveled walks and pretty 
statues, formed one of the most attractive features 
in the view from the favorite window. 

At the front, through the branchess of the trees 
may be seen opposite to the chtoau, the home of 
Madame de Grammont, a cousin of the countess, 
who with her son and daughter occupy this abode 
of luxury. Laid out in exquisite taste, there is 
no residence within many miles that can compare 
with St* Omars, for that was the name bestowed 
upon it by Monsieur de Grammont, who had 
built it expressly for his bride twenty years be- 
fore. Madame was a devoted Roman Catholic, 
but warmly attached to the Huguenot countess ; 
so that the two families were upon terms of the 
closest intimacy. 

And now we will step into the family-room at 
the chteau for a few moments, and make the ac- 
quaintance of its members. It is a sunny morn- 
ing, and the glow is lighting not only sky and 
tree, but is flooding this cheerful room with its 
pictures, its musical instruments and its flowers, 
especially illumining the luxuriant auburn locks 
of the eldest daughter, Antoinette de Luneville. 


A SUNNY MORNING. 


15 


The countess, a lady in her early prime, with a 
noble bearing, is looking upon her group of chil- 
dren with all a mother’s tenderness. 

Guillaume, a boy of fourteen, is seated near 
the countess, his dark eye fixed upon his mother’s 
face. 

Antoinette, his twin sister, is a fair girl, tall 
and gracefully formed, her face beaming with in- 
telligence, a complexion where the lily and the 
rose are beautifully blinded, with dark hazel eyes, 
and a profusion of rich auburn hair, in the sun- 
light almost golden. 

Natalie, a sweet child of nine, with little 
Clarice of three, who is seated upon her mother’s 
lap, complete the group of children. 

But not the least interesting member of the 
circle is Madame de Luneville, the aged grand- 
mother, seated among them with her knitting. 

Clad in the costume of the day, she wears a 
black silk dress with hoop and bodice and train, 
sleeves reaching to the elbow with deep lace 
ruffles, high-heeled slippers, hair slightly pow- 
dered and rolled back over a cushion covered by 
a lace cap with its deep ruffles ; net mittens cov- 
ering the arm and hand complete the picture. 

She has passed through scenes of great trial, is 


16 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


one of the heroic race of De Castelnau, and has 
an abundant store of the chronicles of the ancient 
Vaiidois, which she frequently relates to these 
young people. 

It is a lovely picture upon which we look — 
the mother with her open Bible, and the children 
intent upon the holy lessons so earnestly taught. 

Guillaume with his open Testament, and An- 
toinette with hers, are searching out kindred pas- 
sages, directed by their mother, for they are 
studying an important subject. 

Now, tell me, Antoinette, do you find the 
word prieMj as Pastor La Roche explained it, ap- 
plied to ministers or preachers of the gospel in 
the Christian Church ?’’ 

“ I cannot find one place where it is,” was the 
reply; all that I see refer to the one great High 
Priest of the New Testament, our Lord and 
Saviour.” 

The Latin word sacerdos is used with reference 
to a sacrificing priest, and is never used in the 
New Testament in that sense for ministers ; we 
find it in the Jewish Church only.” 

Have there been any such on earth, mamma, 
since our Saviour passed into the heavens ?” in- 
quired Antoinette. 


A SUNNY MORNING. 


17 


There have been many pretenders, my chil- 
dren, and that one delusion has led to' many 
others which follow it as a consequence : the 
altar, the priest, the sacrifice belong to one idea ; 
hence the abominations of the mass.” 

Every now and then the venerable grandma 
dropped a word of wisdom as she listened to the 
Bible-teaching of the day. 

‘‘These are solemn days, Eugenie,” said the 
lady, addressing the countess, “ for I never put 
any faith in Mazarines political toleration ; and 
ever since his death I have feared the king, ruled 
as he is by that wicked trio, Madame de Main- 
tenon, Louvois and La Chaise.” 

“ Edicts of toleration when made for the 
Huguenots are never meant to be kept,” replied 
the countess ; “ witness those put forth in the 
days of Catherine de Medici. None have ever 
been respected at all until the day of Henry of 
Navarre; and though his were less liberal in lan- 
guage, they meant what they said, and he saw 
that they were obeyed.” 

“ We must learn, Eugenie, to put no confidence 
in princes ; nearly four centuries of deep wrong 
and cruel perfidy have made me distrustful of 
kings.” 

2 *• 


B 


18 


THE OLD CHAtEAU. 


“ Let US hope for the best, dear mamma. The 
Lord has the hearts of all men in his hands, and 
he can restrain the wrath of man.” 

The lesson closed with a hymn, Mademoiselle 
la Koche presiding at the harpsichord, and the 
children joining in the simple worship. At that 
moment the door opened, and the Count de 
Luneville presented himself. 

‘^Come in, papa; we have done our Bible les- 
sons,” said Antoinette. 

Little Clarice jumped down from mamma’s 
lap and ran to the count, and Natalie, taking his 
hand, said, 

“ I learned a little verse to-day; shall I say it, 
papa ?” 

“ Say on, ma mignon.” 

‘‘ There is one Mediator between God and man, 
the man Christ Jesus.” 

The count smiled ; 

“I wonder if my pet understands that hard 
word?” 

Mediatory papa ? It is One who prays for us 
when we do wrong, and makes peace for us with 
God.” 

“And who is that, Natalie?” ♦ 

“ Our blessed Saviour, papa.” 


A SUNNY MORNING. 


19 


^^That is right, Natalie; now, where is my 
kiss?’’ at tlie same moment lifting the child and 
receiving its caress. 

The countess is looking at her watch. 

“ Pastor la Eoche is waiting, Guillaume ; it is 
now near nine o’clock ; you will be here at 
twelve,” continued the lady, turning to the girls. 
“ I shall be ready, and then after dinner, it is 
Natalie’s turn to go with me to the hamlet. 
Don’t keep mademoiselle waiting.” 

The persons alluded to were father and daugh- 
ter — the former a Huguenot minister, tutor to 
Guillaume, and the latter in charge of the girls. 

When the children had left the room, the elder 
lady said, 

‘‘ Did you notice Clermont’s remarks yester- 
day?” 

did,” replied the count, and thought his 
expectations were too sanguine.” 

^^After so long a period of dark and bloody 
persecution, the millennium does not come sud- 
denly,” answered the old lady; ‘^but what do 
you think of the conversion of the king?” 

It bodes no good to us, dear mother ; for, al- 
though barely tolerated now, we know not how 
soon our dearest rights may be invaded.” 


20 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


It is said that Madame de Maintenon is one 
of the most cruel of all our enemies. I tremble 
for our people.” 

The De Lunevilles were all staunch Hugue- 
nots, and back to the days of the Vaudois the 
mother of the count could trace their lineage, 
numbering even martyrs among their ancestors — 
Hugenots not politically, but spiritually ; for the 
name bore two significations, had two faces — the 
one earthly, contending for supremacy, the other 
heavenly, striving for the sacred rights of liberty 
of thought, faith and worship; for this was the 
aspiration of the pious Huguenots. It was the 
glorious spirit of Protestantism which led them, 
and after which they had marched down through 
the ages, with its open Bible, its sublime faith, 
its heroic patience. 

The patience of the saints! — this it was that 
sent home to heaven by the flame, the rack and 
the sword that great multitude slain for the 
word of God, and, clad in white robes, who be- 
neath the altar wait for their coronation-day. 

The countess busied herself for some time in 
making up several bundles, packing two baskets, 
and gathering from a bookcase in the room a 
parcel of small books. See what neat little 


A SUNNY MORNING. 


21 


aprons the children have made,” she said, pro- 
ducing several. 

Grandma was highly pleased by this display 
of their industry, and added three pairs of chil- 
dren’s stockings, which she had just finished. 
“ They are darling pets, Eugenie, but I think 
that Antoinette will be the heroine of the De 
Lunevilles ; she has deep and earnest feeling even 
now, and whenever self-sacrifice is called for, we 
see it in the dear child.” 

I believe that she is truly pious, mamma, for 
she will give up any book for the Bible, and is 
such a good elder sister.” 

‘^God grant that she may not be called to a 
baptism of suffering, such as Antoinette of the 
Vaudois endured!” 

Twelve o’clock brought the girls again to the 
mother’s side. ‘‘We had good lessons, mamma,” 
said Antoinette, “ and now we are ready for our 
needlework.” 

Clarice was sent out with her nurse Lucette, 
and the other two sat down to their embroidery. 
During the pleasant hour the mother entertained 
her children with stories of their ancestors, and 
Antoinette’s eye and cheek kindled whenever he- 
roic deeds were the subject. 


22 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The daily studies were ended, dinner over, and 
Natalie, basket in hand, is ready to accompany 
her mother on her errand of mercy. She is a 
thoughtful, delicate child, whose sensitive nature 
sends the warm blood to and fro on her young 
face with every change of feeling. 

Her mother often looks with a sigh at the soft 
blue eyes and fair hair of her second daughter, 
with her smiles and tears always ready to chase 
each other like clouds on an April sky at the re- 
cital of touching stories. 

Along the green lanes and beside the silver 
streams the mother and child pursue their walk, 
the countess entertaining and instructing Natalie 
with her pleasant chat, and the child listening 
and prattling in her own sweet way, accosted fre- 
quently by passing peasants with a bow of respect 
or a smile of grateful love. But they are at the 
hamlet now, and stopping at the priest’s house, 
they inquire for old Father Paul, who has seen 
them coming and is soon at the gate to welcome 
them. Father Paul is a Roman Catholic — one 
of the priests at the chapel over the river — old 
and worn-out, indeed scarcely able to perform 
duty now. He is not popular with the priests, 
for he has no sympathy with a persecuting spirit. 


A SUNNY MORNING. 


23 


The countess is one of his best friends, and 
always has something in her basket for Father 
Paul. To-day a few fresh eggs, a bottle of cream, 
butter, some strengthening medicines and a loaf 
of bread are in Natalie^s basket for the old 
man. 

May the holy Virgin bless your sweet young 
face!^’ said the priest, laying his hand upon her 
head. 

Thank you. Father Paul,” said Natalie, but 
I would rather be blessed by the dear Saviour 
himself, for you know that he said, ^ Suffer the 
little children to come unto me.’” 

Have you heard from Paris lately ?” inquired 
the countess. 

Why do you ask ?” was the cautious reply. 

“ Because I am afraid of the Jesuits ; so long 
as they are in power there is no safety for us.” 

Father Paul was not a Jesuit, and knew that 
there was danger for all heretics so long as they 
were powerful. 

As the countess turned away, the priest, with 
a sorrowful look, crossed himself, murmuring an 
ave for the two heretics. 

From cottage to cottage they pursued their 
walk, leaving many comforts with the people, 


24 . 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


but, best of all, kind words of cheer and Chris- 
tian consolation. 

While the countess was talking to Pauline 
Milot, Natalie, seated on a low bench with the 
little ones around her, was distributing her pretty 
books and some of her own toys, delighting the 
children with her lively words. 

The chimes of the vesper-bell coming over the 
water warned them that it was time to return, 
and taking leave of their humble friends, they 
hurried home. The count met them at the en- 
trance to the front lawn, and, taking the arm of 
the countess within his own, led her out to the 
back verandah. 

Was there ever anything more lovely?^’ said 
the lady. And well might she say so, for the 
garden was bathed in a flood of glorious sunset 
light, illumining distant tree and hill, and re- 
flected by the peculiarly transparent atmosphere 
of Southern France. 

Gathering at the tea-table, all had something 
to tell of their afternoon’s recreation, and at the. 
sound of their own bell assembled in the chapel 
for evening worship ere they sought their rest. 

These are the days of toleration now, for it 
had been the policy of France to grant some 


A SUNNY MOENING. 


25 


church privileges. Since the siege of Rochelle 
the Huguenots are no longer a political power ; 
they are not now in the hands of a tiger queen, 
who under velvet paws concealed her cruel talons, 
but are objects of open hatred to the wicked 
woman who rules the “Grand Monarch.’^ 


3 




CHAPTER II. 

THE TWINS' BIRTH- DAY. 

birth-day of the twins is approaching, 
celebrated out of doors in a 
simple, unostentatious manner. Henri 
and Coralie de Grammont, with Louise 
and Cecelia Bourquin, from a neighboring cha- 
teau, are the only guests. Ba*ptiste, a faithful ser- 
vant, their musician, and Lucette, their nurse, 
are quite indispensable.- 

Guillaume and Antoinette are fourteen to-day, 
and are made very happy, on first awaking, by 
finding love-gifts from their parents and grand- 
mother under their pillows — a handsome Bible 
for each from grandma, a watch for Guillaume 
from the count, and a flute from his mother; for 
Antoinette, a gold pencil with the family seal, 
ajid from mamma, a ring two centuries old, be- 
longing to one bearing the same name. 

Madame de Grammont considers herself one 
26 


THE twins’ birth-day. 27 

of the party — a gentle, retiring woman, with warm 
affections and timid nature, devoted to her chil- 
dren and her Church. Henri, a youth of sixteen, 
and Coralie are the delight of their mother’s 
heart and the dearest companions of the children 
of the chateau. 

The difference of faith has not heretofore dis- 
turbed their friendship, for, although the matin 
and vesper bell calls one to worship, and only 
the domestic altar witnesses the devotions of the 
other, the love of their youthful days yet binds 
their households. Guillaume and Henri have 
been busy all the morning in dressing the large- 
summer-house in the garden, where the guests 
are to be entertained. The rich profusion of 
flowers enables them to decorate it without stint, 
and when it is completed, Antoinette pronounces 
it the prettiest bower in which young maiden 
ever sat. 

Early dressed in simple white, the girls are 
running to and fro, impatient for the arrival of 
the guests. The trees are too thick to allow them 
to see St. Omars plainly, but, peeping through 
the branches, Antoinette spies her cousins closing 
the gate on their way to the chateau. Tripping 
down the lawn, she greets Coralie with a kiss, 


28 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


and stooping to smell the sweet flowers, exclaims, 
^^How lovely! all for us, Coralie!’’ 

Every one, dear cousin, with many wishes for 
returning happy birth-days.” 

A profusion of roses with lovely trailing flowers 
of every hue filled the basket which was to be 
placed in the centre of the table in the summer- 
house. 

Madame de Grammout has accompanied her 
children, and with a smiling face uncovers an- 
other basket containing a richly-iced cake with 
an' ornament in the centre and the names of Guil- 
laume and Antoinette. Many glad returns, 
my dear children, of this happy day,” said the 
lady, as she offered her gift. 

“ Bettine has taken a great deal of pains with 
it, and I think has succeeded.” 

‘‘Thank you, dear cousin Agnace,” replied 
Antoinette, offering her rosy cheek for a kiss ; 
“ it is so pretty, and every one is so good to us 
to-day.” 

“ Let me carry the basket,” said Guillaume. 

The countess was “on the piazza waiting for her 
cousin. 

“ Many happy returns of this day, dear Eu- 
genie.” 


THE twins’ birth-day. 


29 


may it be, Agnace; but the thought of 
approaching maturity comes with forebodings of 
what may happen, for we know not what is before 
our country.” 

We are very tranquil now, Eugenie ; let us 
enjoy the present.” 

“ That is true, but there have been seasons of 
just such quiet before terrific storms; we are a 
fickle, excitable people, Agnace.” 

^^Let us talk of something else, dear cousin; 
this must be a bright day. How lovely An- 
toinette is growing !” 

‘‘Lovely in every way, Agnace; mind and 
heart are developing into a noble character. We 
have great comfort in our children, but all seem 
to cling to Antoinette.” 

The children are on the lawn now, enjoying 
their youthful sports. Baptiste, with his violin, 
is doing his part, and Lucette looks on with a 
satisfied expression of delight on her honest face. 
Battledore and shuttlecock is a favorite game 
with the young people, and in its active movements 
there is quite an unconscious display of youthful 
grace. An early supper of fruit and cakes is 
spread in the summer-house, and it is a pretty 
picture when all are gathered around the table, 


30 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Antoinette doing the honors so like a little lady. 
None are more lively than the good pastor and 
mademoiselle, for they love the dear children of 
the chtoau with fond affection. 

After supper, Antoinette with her guitar, Guil- 
laume with his flute, and Baptiste with his violin, 
accompany the young people in singing some 
of their sweet Proven9al airs, and grandma looks 
on with mingled feelings of pleasure and sadness, 
wondering if such a day would come again. 

The sun is setting in glory upon the landscape, 
with no shadow to dim its charming beauty. No 
shadow ? Alas ! walking slowly down the ter- 
race there is a stranger clad in the sombre vest- 
ments of a priest. His pale face, rigid lips, with 
dark, deep-set eyes and noiseless step, all mark the 
Jesuit. The soft, oily voice spoke in silvery tones : 

“ Do not let me disturb your merriment, my 
children; I came to seek Madame de Gram- 
mont.” 

Madame arose, and bowing, replied, I am 
that lady ; shall I return to St. Omars 

‘'Not just yet. I am Father Sebastian, about 
to succeed Father Ambrose at St. Genevieve’s. 
I should like to stay a moment, if you do not 
object.” 


THE TWINS^ BIRTH-DAY. 31 

‘'Allow me to introduce to you my friends, tlie 
Count and Countess de Luneville, father.’^ 

Laying his hand upon his heart, the priest 
bowed his head and replied, without raising his 
eyes, “Members of the true Church, I hope, 
madame.’’ 

“ We believe ourselves a part of it, father, for 
we are of the Reformed^ faith.’’ 

The priest crossed himself as he replied, “And 
these lambs, then, are to be brought up as 
heretics !” referring to the children of the 
chtoau. 

Antoinette was roused, but so engrossed were 
the hearers with the words of the priest that none 
had observed the young girl, who was now stand- 
ing with burning cheek and kindling eye, as she 
confronted the priest and replied, 

“ Children of martyrs. Father Sebastian, proud 
of our inheritance !” 

The priest grew paler, and the white teeth 
gleamed through the sardonic smile that shot 
over the rigid face. 

Madame de Grammont was shocked, the count 
and countess taken by surprise at this burst of 
feeling, and the aged , grandmother, clasping her 
hands and raising her eyes to heaven, murmured 


32 


THE OLD chateau. 


to herself, Heaven preserve her ! Antoinette is 
sealed/’ 

The sun is setting fast now, and one more game 
is proposed ere the party separate. Out on the 
lawn the incident in the summer-house is quickly 
forgotten by the younger members of the party, 
who are soon engrossed by their merry sports. 

The encounter between Father Sebastian and 
the child is not so soon forgotten by the parents, 
who are watching the company with anxious, 
troubled hearts. 

How happy they seem!” said the countess, 
“ dear, unsuspicious children ! but if the days of 
trial should come again, I fear for Antoinette, she 
is such a brave, intelligent Protestant.” 

‘‘ The free spirit of the eagle, the tender heart 
of a dove, will make our child a heroine, Eugenie. 
Let us leave her, dearest, to the training of our 
common Father.” 

The birth-day has closed ; its sun has set ; the 
shadows of twilight are closing round; sounds 
of peace fill the air — the evening song of the 
birds, the soft hum of insects, the lowing of cat- 
tle, and, sweeter than all, the songs of the peas- 
antry along the roadside, through grassy fields or 
along the margins of the streams, seeking their 


THE TWIXS’ BIRTH-DAY. 


33 


liiimble cottages; all impart an aspect of peace to 
this evening hour in Languedoc. Quiet reigns 
in the world of nature, and seemingly in the na- 
tion ; but is it so? The anxious hearts of the 
millions of Huguenots answer that the Jesuits 
are yet in France, unchanged, crafty, cruel, re- 
lentless still— still plotting in secret; and can 
such a state of things mean peace to the Hugue- 
nots ? Let us follow Father Sebastian and Ma- 
dame de Grammont on their way to St. Omars. 

Do you regard this as a safe intimacy, ma- 
dame?’^ inquired the priest. 

‘‘ The countess is my cousin, father — dear as a 
sister.’^ 

Poison must be rejected, even at the hands 
of the dearest relative, when the Church com- 
mands it.” 

You certainly do not call the beautiful exam- 
ple of that family poison, father?” 

Everything is poison which alienates the 
heart from the true Church, my daughter.” 

I am a faithful Catholic, father, and my cousin 
does not interfere with my religion.” 

Not by words, madame, but by actions.” 

They are all that is good and lovely, father.” 

So much the more dangerous. Do you not 
C 


34 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


see that this young gir], with all her charms, may 
he irresistible to your son, and what then 

Madame de Grammont did not answer. 

Do you not see, madiime, that the De Lune- 
ville family are a constant apology for Protest- 
antism, a plea for the deadly sin of heresy, before 
the eyes of your children ? Are they not already 
tainted 

I think not, father ; they are very faithful 
in their attendance upon confession and the 
mass.” 

Let me ask them if they love these heretics, 
madame, and what would they reply ?” 

' They would say that they have always loved 
them as though they were brothers and sisters, 
father.” 

^^And you call that obedience to the Church 
when she commands you to exterminate heresy ?” 

The gray shadows of evening entirely enclosed 
them now, but as they entered the hall door, 
madame felt that the brightness of the day had 
disappeared, and that a darker evil than that of 
evening had fallen upon St. Omars with the 
advent of Father Sebastian. 

Let the doves of Languedoc beware when the 
hawks of Rome are abroad! 


THE twins’ BIRTII-DAY. 


35 


We will close the door upon the secret confer- 
ence and return to the chateau. 

‘^This visit bodes no good/’ said the aged lady 
of the family; ‘Mie is a Jesuit, and has come 
upon no righteous errand.” 

I fear that he will try to alienate Agnace ' 
from us,” said the countess. 

You may be sure of that,” was the reply ; 
and she is a yielding, timid woman, easy to be 
led by an artful priest.” 

A bright birth-day morning had dawned upon 
the household ; will it ever come again to the 
Chateau de Luneville? We shall see ! 




CHAPTER III. 

FAMILY PICTURES. 

HERE is a corridor in the chateau filled 
with portraits of the ancestors of the 
family, which the young people are very 
fond of visiting. There is one discolored 
by age — a portrait of a lady in young womanhood, 
dressed in the costume of more than four cen- 
turies back, wearing a necklace of amethysts. 
The face has a look of patient suffering, and the 
children always stop before this ancient picture 
of the Lady Antoinette. 

‘^You know, grandma, that you have prom- 
ised to tell us the history of the necklace,” said 
Antoinette to her grandmother one day. 

I have brought the manuscript to-day,” was 
the reply. Let us sit down here by the win- 
dow, and I will read it to you.” 

Gathered around Madame de Luneville, who 



FAMILY PICTURES. 


37 


was seated in a large easy-cliair, the children 
w^aited eagerly for the promised story. 

Bringing out a manuscript yellow and brittle 
wdth age, she remarked, 

‘^This was' written by the lady herself, and it 
has been preserved from generation to generation 
as an heir-loom in our family ; she was of the 
Vaudois faith, and lived in the days of their 
most bitter persecution. Now listen : 

In the cave beyond Carcassonne. 

God is our hope and strength — a very present 
help in trouble. Therefore will we not fear, 
though the earth be moved, and though the hills 
be carried into the midst of the sea. 

‘‘Surrounded by our suffering people, cold, 
freezing, exposed to the dripping of the cavern, 
I bless God for this refuge from my enemies. A 
pencil and paper, with my box of tapers, enable 
me to trace these lines in the darkness. 

“Wondrous has been my deliverance : in the 
fearful massacre of Beziers but one saved of all 
that multitude, and that one a feeble woman ! 
When the Abbot of Citeaux learned that Beziers 
had fallen, he was determined to have his feast 
of blood, and when asked how the Romanist 
would be distinguished from the Yaudois, re- 
4 


38 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


plied, ^Kill them all, God will know his own.’ 
I heard the cruel speech, and at that moment 
was standing near the city gate under the arch ; 
I saw an opening, and, unperceived by any one, I 
hurried into the only shelter near. I found that 
it led a considerable distance under the ground, 
and there in that wet place, I hid away from the 
bloodhounds. I heard the surging multitudes 
over my head, tlie cries of anguish, the howling 
of the murderers, the constant ringing of the 
church-bells, though I did not know what it 
meant. I knew that many of the nobles had 
sent their wives and little ones here for safety, 
while they remained at home ‘to defend the cha- 
teaux ; I could not believe that they would sacri- 
fice them all. 

“ Then 1 heard the roaring of the flames, and 
I knew that they were burning the churches. 

I remained in that gloomy jdace all night, hut 
my soul was stayed upon God, and the promises 
one by one came stealing over my spirit and 
raising me quite above the sorrows of this mortal 
life. As long as there was any noise of footsteps 
over head I remained in my hiding-place. At 
length all was silent. I ventured forward and 
looked out. It was broad daylight, for a day 


FAMILY PICTURES. 


39 


and a night had passed, but fearful was the scene 
of desolation. The great Cathedral of Nicaise 
was ill ruins, smouldering yet, and the smell of 
human flesh was sickening, for the horrible sight 
was before me in all its reality. Among the 
relics were the remains of my sweet children and 
precious mother, who had become separated from 
me in the terrible confusion. Claude, my first- 
born, and Aline, my lovely daughter, were among 
the martyrs, and I thought of them, not in that 
terrific flame, but before the Throne. I saw them 
in their shining robes with palms of victory in 
their hands, and I sang in soft, low tones, 

‘ The noble army of martyrs praise thee.' 

“ Not a human being was seen among the ruins, 
for the whole town had been reduced to ashes. 
I sat down for a few moments in utter desolation, 
cold, shivering and hungry, for I had not tasted 
food for two days. In my misery I raised my 
heart in prayer to God to send me a deliverer. 
It was sweet to feel the communion of suffering 
with my Saviour, for in that hour of sorrow I 
knew that ^ if we suffer, we shall also reign with 
him.' 

I thought that I heard a footstep, and raising 
my head, I saw a peasant approaching; it was 


40 THE OLD CHITEAU. 

one of the Romanists, and my heart sank within 
me ; but I found that it was a man with a human 
heart, for he expressed pity for my sufferings. 
‘You will not betray me to the priests,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Yo, my poor lady, I have seen too much of 
cruelty for that ; the massacre is almost beyond 
description. It was pitiable to behold the poor, 
helpless people. When the besiegers became 
masters of the gates, the crowds rushed to the 
churches. The canons in their church dress, 
sounding their bells, assembled round the altar, 
as if to supplicate mercy, but they were as little 
heard as the human wails that filled the church. 
Still the mournful knells mingled with the cries 
of anguish so long as there was one alive. The 
massacre spread to other churches, and a thou- 
sand dead bodies were counted in the church of 
Magdalen alone. None escaped of all that mul- 
titude.’ 

“I corrected his mistake, and told him how I 
was saved, and that I was anxious to reach my 
husband’s chateau. I wished to get as far as 
Carcassonne, but did not know the way. He 
kindly offered to conduct me, but said that we 
must travel at night and hide in the day-time. 
As we passed out of the ruined city, on the out’ 


FAMILY PICTURES. 


41 


skirts were the remains of what had been a beau- 
tiful garden, ti’ampled and destroyed now by the 
ruthless hand of man ; but there was a rose bush 
still standing. Stooping down, I gathered some 
of the sweet flowers and kissed them ; they 
seemed to speak of the goodness of God, for 
while the world was so dark and dreary, these, at 
least, were clothed with smiles. 

I had concealed my necklace in the body of 
my dress, and wondered who next would wear 
the family jewels. 

Leading me out of the city, we stopped at a 
small hut in the neighborhood, and Pierre’s 
wife kindly fed me, washed my feet, and, placing 
me in a comfortable bed, left me to rest in peace, 
sheltered by the enemies of our faith*. 

‘‘Repeating the words of the sweet singer of 
Israel, I enjoyed a season of holy communion 
with my God and Saviour. 

“‘Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful 
unto me : for my soul trusteth in thee ; yea, in 
the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, 
until these calamities be overpast.’ 

“ Sweet was my sleep throughout that summer 
day, and by nightfall we were ready to take up 
our toilsome march. Hiding in caves and woods 


42 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


and mountains through the day, at night vve pur- 
sued our perilous journey, getting what we could 
from the peasants, who succored Pierre as one of 
their own people, for the country around had 
been nearly depopulated of their Vaudois inhab- 
itants; Those who still lived were hidden in 
caves and dens of the earth, ^of whom the world 
was not worthy.’ 

‘^After a journey of some weeks, we came in 
sight of Carcassonne, wdiich was already invested, 
and through countless dangers I succeeded in ob- 
taining entrance to the citadel. For eight days 
it was bravely defended, and then was reduced by 
mere stress of numbers. 

With shameful treachery, Roger and three 
hundred of his Crusaders threw themselves upon 
the unguarded band, all of whom Avere disarmed, 
and, together with their young lord, consigned to 
the care of Simon de Montfort. Finding that 
they were betrayed, at night the citizens rushed 
to the sanctuary of an immense cavern, dark and 
aAvful, that stretched away from the river gate 
three leagues to the towns of Cabardes.* 

On with the multitude T rushed into this 
dreary place, whose imaginary horrors in happier 
* W. Carlos Martyn’s History of the Fluguenots, chap. v. 


FAMILY PICTURES. 


43 


(lays none would dare to face, but now it was in- 
deed a sanctuary. We forgot the stories of hob- 
goblins in our terror of the fiends around the 
city walls of Carcassonne. 

‘‘Joined by a handful of our brethren in suffer- 
ing, leaving the gloomy cavern, we set out for 
the Chateau la Fontelaye, where my husband was 
still entrenched. After days of suffering and 
privation we reached the place of our destination. 
Barefoot, worn and weary, I knocked at the gates, 
and even the sentinels scarcely knew their lady; 
but just within the second gate I saw my hon- 
ored husband. Stretching out my hands, I mur- 
mured, ‘Victor! Victor!^ and in another mo- 
ment, pressed to his noble heart, I was at home 
to tell that we were childless. 

“ Truly were we in the deep waters, but the 
angel of the covenant was with us. We were 
enabled to rejoice that we were ‘counted worthy 
to suffer’ for the name of our dear Lord. I in- 
troduced my faithful guide, Pierre, to my hus- 
band, who rewarded him not only by his grati- 
tude, but by a handsome sum of money. 

“Soon after this period, Kaymond Koger in the 
bright bloom of youth fell a victim to the treach- 
ery of Simon de Montfort— secretly poisoned. The 


44 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Holy Father, Innocent III., did not deny the 
fact. 

History writes his name proudly, as Raymond 
Roger, the defender of the Vaudois.’’ 

* :!« * * * * 

“ The Crusaders are coming again, and we must 
flee to the shelter of a stronger fortress. 

^ God is our refuge and strength, a very pres- 
ent help in time of trouble.’ ” 

And here the manuscript closed. 

Turning to Antoinette, Madame de Luneville 
was struck by the expression of deep and earnest 
feeling beaming in her every feature, while large 
tears stood in the dark eyes. 

“What became of her, grandma?” asked the 
young girl. 

“ I will tell you the remainder of her sad story ; 

“Besieged in the castle of Minerva for seven 
weeks, the Vaudois defended themselves with a 
valor tliat challenged the admiration of their 
enemies. But under the heat of a July sun the 
water in the cisterns gave out and they were obliged 
to capitulate. 

“ Terms were finally agreed upon ; one article 
providing that only the Vaudois who were con- 


FAMILY PICTURES. 


45 


verted to the Roman faith might leave the castle 
alive. One of the leaders said that the pilgrims 
would not allow this, since ^ it was not to convert, 
but to kill, that they had taken the cross.’ ” 
Opening a book lying on her lap, the lady 
continued : 

Let me read a description of this scene from 
a historian who records these events. 

Shortly after the Crusaders entered, chanting 
the Te Deum, preceded by the cross and standards 
of De Montfort. 

God’s children had assembled in two Yau- 
dois churches ; while the fanatical bands of Rome 
were chanting the Te Deum, they answered in 
low, sweet tones their Proven9al hymns of praise, 
pausing between each sob to exchange a mute 
caress or to seek new strength in prayer. 

Not one flinched. The honor of suffering for 
the dear name of Jesus imparted dignity to the 
most humble of the martyrs. 

It was the grandest sermon to which that 
brutal band of fanatics, smeared with martyr 
blood, had ever listened. 

‘‘The abbot came to the Yaudois and began 
to preach the Roman faith. He was instantly 
silenced ; 


46 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


have renounced the Cliurcb of Rome; 
we draw our comfort from a higher source, even 
from the Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory 
for evermore. Amen. Neither life nor death 
can make us renounce that precious Bible whose 
truths we have embraced.^ 

‘^The Yaudois women were equally firm. De 
Montfort himself visited the Yaudois. 

Masses of dry wood had been piled in the 
open square waiting for the torch, while the exe- 
cutioners in their black gowns stood ready. 

‘ Be converted to the Roman faith or ascend 
the pile,’ said the ruthless Crusader. 

The ’whole square was soon one sheet of fire, 
tongues of lurid flame licking the fagots as if 
impatient for their prey. 

Conducted to the funeral pyre, no force was 
necessary to compel them to dare the torturing 
fire. Yoluntarily they threw themselves into it, 
the sweet hymns of Provence quivering on their 
lips, or else repeating the grandest of the Beati- 
tudes. 

High above the roaring of the fierce flames, 
and above the howling of the fanatics, the wailing 
of the Yaudois in tones of supplication ascended 
to heaven; and through the gate of this fiery 


FAMILY PICTURES. 


47 


death this noble army of Christian martyrs went 
home to glory. 

“Among these heroic sufferers were the Lady 
Antoinette and her husband, who, encircled in 
each other’s arms, cheered their dying moments by 
words of sublime and holy faith.” 

“What became of the necklace?” inquired 
Natalie. 

“ She had left it in the care of a faithful ser- 
vant at the Chateau la Fontelaye, and I have it 
now.” 

Antoinette sat with folded hands and eyes 
fixed upon the portrait as she replied, 

“ Grandma, can those days come again?” 

“ The spirit of persecution has always followed 
the Keformed faith for nearly five centuries, An- 
toinette, changing with the politics of the day — 
fierce and bloody in the times of Catherine de 
Medici, checked in the days of Henry of Na- 
varre ; but we are in danger now, for there is a 
bigot in power again.” 

“ Suppose it comes upon us, grandma ?” 

“ ‘As thy days, so shall thy strength be,’ my 
child.” 

“Can we see the necklace, grandma?” asked 
Natalie. 


48 


THE OLD CHAtEAIJ. 


Leaving the corridor a moment, the grande 
mother returned with a small box in her hand, 
and opening it, disclosed the ancient necklace, set 
in heavy gold and clasped by a large diamond. 

How came it to be yours, grandma 

In one of the terrible scenes through which 
our people have been called to pass it was ad- 
judged to me, Antoinette, for acts that the times 
and the grace of God inspired.’^ 

The children were very thoughtful, for this re- 
cital had aroused their deepest feelings. 

^^Come with me,” continued the old lady; 
want to show you some of our hiding-places 
should the days of trial come again.” 

Leading them up a back staircase to one of the 
highest turrets, she slid back a panel that was 
most carefully concealed from the eyes of a 
stranger, and the party stood within a room lit 
from the top by a small sky-light. 

There were a table, a few chairs and two low 
cots within ; and showing the children how to 
open the panel both from the inside and outside, 
she allowed them to try if they understood the 
secret. 

This was used by some of our ancestors di- 
rectly after the massacre of St. Bartholomew, for 


FAMILY PICTUllES. 


49 


the persecutions were carried on in the provinces, 
and Languedoc suffered severely/’ 

Leading them out into the garden, she con- 
ducted them to a summer-house, and striking her 
foot upon the centre of the floor, there was the 
answer of a secret spring; and pushing aside a 
trap-door, she asked, 

“ Would any of you like to go down ?” 

“ I am not afraid, grandma,” answered Guil- 
laume. 

“ Nor I either,” said Antoinette. 

‘‘We must have a lantern then.” 

Guillaume quickly returned with one, and fol- 
lowing Madame de Luneville down a few steps, 
they found themselves in a subterranean passage, 
following which they continued until they came 
into a large cave in the woods, concealed by heavy 
brushwood. 

The apartment was large, having lanterns sus- 
pended from the ceiling, and two or tliree iron 
bedsteads standing along the sides, the floor being 
covered with thick layers of straw. 

“ It is well to know of these places, my chil- 
dren, for we may need them.” 

Returning in the same way, the grandmother 
led them into the chapel, and behind the reading- 
5 D 


50 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


desk showed them another panel leading into a 
small room, entirely hidden from ordinary eyes. 

You must speak of this to no one, my chil- 
dren,” said the old lady; “ especially to the De 
Gramraonts.” 

Why not, grandma ? they would never betray 
us,” said Antoinette. 

‘‘Not willingly,” was the reply, “but young 
people are very incautious sometimes, my dear. 
So beware, I beseech you.” 

“They don’t come to see us as they used to, 
grandma,” said Natalie. 

The old lady sighed as she replied, 

“ That is Father Sebastian’s work. Ever since 
he has been to St. Omars there has been an evi- 
dent restraint upon their actions.” 

“ They will never cease to love us, grandma,” 
said Antoinette ; “ for Henri is too noble to turn 
against us for our faith, and Coralie and I are 
just like sisters; besides, grandma,” lowering her 
voice, “ I hope that Henri may be one of us yet 
some day, for he has a New Testament and reads 
it secretly,” 

“ How did he get it, my child ?” 

“I gave it to him on my birth-day, grandma, 
and we have had several talks about it.” 


FAMILY PICTURES. 


51 


Where does he hide it, Antoinette 
In a little box that he keeps locked up in his 
bookcase, grandma; and Coralie and he read it 
together.’’ 

Madame de Luneville trembled at this disclo- 
sure, for she knew that an artful priest was now 
domesticated at St. Omars and in charge of the 
children’s education. She could easily imagine 
what would take place if this were discovered. 

In season and out of season, by the wayside, 
by the fireside, in the chapel, by the pastor and 
his daughter, by the count and countess, but most 
powerfully by the aged lady at the chateau, were 
these children indoctrinated in the great princi- 
ples of Protestanism. And shall we, the children 
of light in the nineteenth century, give away one 
inch of our inheritance to the common enemy of 
spiritual Christianity ? 

Shall we not rather join hands with all who 
hold these great doctrines, and make common 
cause of our Christianity with all who love our 
Lord Jesus Christ? Is there not one heart-throb 
among all true followers of our dear Master? 

Brotherhood with these ancient Vaudois, broth- 
erhood with the Huguenots, brotherhood with the 
followers of the great German Reformer, brother- 


52 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


hood with all who, justified by faith, have peace 
with God ! But no brotherhood with Rome ! 
No mawkish desire of affiliation there ! Yet 
even there the eye of God may find the Lord’s 
hidden ones, whom he will own at the last day, 
and whom, as individuals, we must love now, if 
they exhibit the Master’s image. 




CHAPTER IV. 

THE VALE OF ROSES. 

Z^^rlERE is to be a party at St. Omars, to 
^ 11 ''vbich the children of the chateau, with 
the countess, are invited. Father Sebas- 
tian is away on business, and the children 
have taken advantage of his absence to meet as 
formerly. 

Henri and Coralie have run out to meet their 
guests, the former linking arms with Guillaume, 
the latter with Antoinette. 

Dear cousin,^^ said Coralie, “ it seems so long 
since we have met. I am so glad that Father 
Sebastian is away, for I feel that he hinders our 
coming ; he does not forbid it, but whenever we 
want to go to the chateau, he says, with one of 
his soft smiles, ‘ Another time will do as well,’ 
and then he contrives to have something else in 
view.” 

It does seem very different now, Coralie, for 

5 * 53 


5i THE OLD CHATEAU. 

formerly, if we saw a new bird’s nest in the little 
houses, we came here to tell it ; or if there were 
young buds in my pretty flower-bed, we could 
not rest until you saw them.” 

“ Yes, Antoinette ; and if Bettine made nice 
cakes, I always had my little basket filled for 
you ; or if I had a new book, I wanted you to 
enjoy it with me.” 

Antoinette sighed as she answered, 

‘‘ It is all very different, Coralie ; I wonder how 
it is?” 

I know, Antoinette. Father Sebastian is a 
Jesuit; he hates the people of the Reformed 
faith, and wants to make us hate them, too; 
but he need not expect that while the Chateau de 
Luneville and its dear people are so near.” 

They had now reached the hall, where Mad- 
ame de Grammont was waiting ready to receive 
them. 

Pressing a warm kiss upon each young face, 
she said. 

It seems so long, Antoinette, since you were 
here ; only once since the birth-day, and you are 
almost as dear to me as my own children ; but 
come in, we are going to entertain you in the 
Vale of Roses this afternoon.” 


THE VALE OF ROSES. 


55 


“ That is charming/’ replied the young girls, 
as, full of high spirits, they hastened to the 
favorite spot. At the foot of the grounds which 
lay to the back of St. Omars flowed a winding 
river, with gentle slopes on each bank ; and here 
was a lovely dell laid out with roses of every 
description, some bordering the garden-paths, 
some trailing over summer-houses, the air filled 
with their sweet perfume. A small lake in the 
centre was bordered entirely with Provence roses. 
On the opposite bank of the river was an exten- 
sive vineyard belonging also to St. Omars, and 
here the young people often took a row in a 
pleasure-boat always moored to the bank for 
their accommodation. 

Seated in one of the pleasant summer-houses, 
the restraint of weeks was all cast aside. Mad- 
ame de Grammont and the countess looked on, 
working at their embroidery and enjoying the 
happiness of their children. 

Antoinette and Henri were in close conversa- 
tion apart by themselves. 

“I have guarded my treasure well, cousin,” 
said the youth ; the priest, with all his cunning, 
has not found it yet, but woe to me when he 
does !” 


56 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


“ When do you read it, Henri V’ inquired the 
young girl. 

Every night after the rest have retired; I 
watch my chance, and then enjoy my half hour’s 
reading. I wonder why the priests want to keep 
it from the people, Antoinette, when it is so full 
of holy, heavenly teaching?’^ 

Grandma says that it would destroy their 
power if the common people should read it : the 
priests don’t like the word liberty, Henri, and you 
know that is what thousands of our dear people 
have died for — liberty of thought, liberty of faith, 
liberty of worship.” 

‘‘I can’t help seeing the difference between 
Pastor la Roche and Father Sebastian ; the one 
so meek and lovely, so gentle and holy ; the other 
so vindictive, so bigoted and intolerant. Then I 
can’t help comparing the two systems, Romanism 
and Protestantism, if these are their genuine fruits. 
But remember, Antoinette, that I am a true 
Catholic yet; I like our forms and ceremonies, 
and am not ready to give them up.” 

Coralie and Guillaume came running after the 
two. 

Come,” said the latter, we want some music ; 
let us get our instruments.” 


THE VALE OF EOSES. 57 

Flutes, guitars and sweet voices made charming 
music, and the two mothers felt as if the old 
times were back again. 

But in these troubled days there was always a 
feeling of insecurity connected with all domestic 
happiness. The tidings from the capital were by 
no means cheering; rumors of immense sums of 
money for the purpose of suborning heresy, talk 
of holding out great inducements to the Hugue- 
nots to succumb, now and then the name of some 
noble who had been thus corrupted by high office, 
reached the chateau ; but none of the middle and 
lower classes were reported as having been hired 
to close their Bibles and deny their faith. 

Sweet as this reunion was, it was shadowed by 
the sense of insecurity. 

The young people, however, gave themselves 
up wholly to- the enjoyment of the hour. With 
busy hands they brought in a profusion of roses, 
and with the choicest crowned Antoinette queen 
of the feast. The expression of girlish innocence 
was in her so blended with high and lofty feeling 
that one scarcely realized that the face belonged 
to one so young. 

‘‘Shall we cross the river, mamma asked 
Coral ie; “the boys can take good care of the 


58 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


boat, and we want to take a row this after- 
noon.” 

Go, ray children,” said the lady, but corae 
back when you hear the horn, in time for supper.” 

Seated in the pretty, boat, with Henri and 
Guillaume at the oars, the happy party glided 
over the river, singing their sweet melodies, the 
parents watching them from the shore. 

I am thinking of a visit to the capital, Eu- 
genie,” said her cousin ; would you not like to 
accompany me?” 

If the count will bear us company ; if so, 
Guillaume and Antoinette shall be of the party; 
they have never been to Paris.” 

‘^Father Sebastian thinks it advisable for all 
of us, Eugenie,” replied the lady. 

The countess fixed an earnest look upon her 
cousin’s face, wondering why the priest should 
desire their visit to the capital ; but there was no 
answer in the soft dark eyes, for Madame Grani- 
mont was free from guile. 

Over the river came the merry voices of the 
children, who had reached the cottage occupied 
by Pierre and Jeannette Lescure, who cared for 
the vineyard belonging to St. Omars. It was 
their delight to visit these worthy people, who, 


THE VALE OF EOSES. 


59 


having no children themselves, were devoted to 
the De Grammonts. 

There will be a fine crop this year,” said 
Henri, as he scanned the vines covered with rich 
clusters of grapes, already turning for the vint- 
age. 

“ There never was a better prospect,” replied 
Pierre ; in about six weeks they will be ready 
for gathering. You will come to the vintage, I 
hope.” 

That we will,” said Natalie, and bring our 
baskets and our music; we shall have a grand 
time, Jeannette.” 

Come and see our little cow,” said Pierre. 

Madame sent us one early in the spring, and a 
great blessing she has been, I can assure you, 
never giving less than six quarts of milk a day.” 

In the little barnyard the party were shown 
the COW’, their poultry, their two sheep and one 
sturdy little horse. 

“ Madame has made us comfortable ; the Holy 
Virgin and the saints bless her ! Our chickens 
find us plenty of eggs, our cow provides our but- 
ter, and we have something to spare for our poor 
neighbors, for some of them have nothing to live 
on but chestnuts and milk.” 


60 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


After rambling about for an hour, the sound of 
the horn recalled the young friends, and taking 
leave of the peasants, they again entered their 
pretty boat and found the two ladies waiting on 
the shore for them. 

Supper is ready,’^ said madame, leading the 
way to the house, where in the supper-room was 
spread a rich repast. 

it has been a long time since we sat down 
together, Eugenie,’’ she said, wdth a sigh. I 
wonder when it will be again ?” 

The children were full of innocent mirth, their 
French tongue's chattering and joking as in days 
of yore. In the midst of their happiness the 
door opened slowly and Father Sebastian stood 
in the midst. There was instant silence, for had 
the earth opened at their feet they would scarcely 
have been more dismayed. Bowing coldly to 
Madame de Grammont, he took no notice what- 
ever of the guests, but said, in freezing tones, 

Send Antoine to my room ; I am tired, for I 
have hurried back sooner than I had anticipated. 
You did not expect me, madame;” and a sneer 
passed over his face. 

The door closed, the priest vanished, and with 
him all enjoyment. The warm sunshine of social 


THE VALE OF EOSES. 


61 - 


joy had given place to the ice-chill of fanaticism. 
The visit was soon brought to an end, and as the 
two ladies parted it was with mutual feelings of 
sorrow, when Madame de Grammont said, mourn- 
fully, 

“This has been a blessed day, Eugenie, but I 
feel that such days are vanishing from our once 
happy firesides.” 

“ God bless and keep you, Agnace,” was the 
reply. “ I shall never cease to .love and pray for 
you and with a warm embrace they parted. 

“Ruby will carry my notes, Antoinette,” said 
Coralie, referring to a carrier pigeon which had 
been trained for their amusement. 

“ Yes, that will be delightful, Coralie. Father 
Sebastian would never suspect an innocent bird.” 

Thus ended the party in the Vale of Roses, its 
early hours so joyous and happy, its twilight close 
so shadowed by an intruder into the domestic 
Eden. 

Father Sebastian was in the hall when Madame 
de Grammont returned from the gate. 

“And is this the way that you guard your chil- 
dren from contagion, madame?” 

“They are mine, Father Sebastian,” replied 
the lady, stung to resistance by his manner. 

6 


62 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


‘‘ They are the property of Holy Church, 
madame, and if their spiritual guardians see that 
tlieir weak mother exposes them to the snares of 
heresy, it bec'omes their duty to put them out of 
the reach of danger.’’ 

“ What do you mean, Father Sebastian ?” said 
the affrighted mother. 

That there are places where they can be kept 
in safety from the wiles of Protestantism.” 

You would nut take them from me, father? 
— my all ! my darlings !” 

The priest returned the look of agony with 
one as cold and keen as steel : 

“ That depends upon yourself. In days when 
the government of France is bent upon rooting 
out heresy, every true daughter of the Church 
would banish heretics from the fireside.” 

‘^Alas ! alas ! I am a weak and loving woman, 
father, and it is not in my heart to indulge one 
harsh feeling toward a fellow-creature.” 

‘‘You must crucify self, madame. Stifle the 
voice of nature; everything must bend in com- 
plete submission to the will of the Holy Church. 
Come to the confessional, madame, at nine o’clock ; 
penance may relieve you.” 

Madame de Grammont dared not disobey the 


THE VALE OF BOSES. 


63 


priest, for, believing biin to be the mouthpiece of 
God to the soul, disobedience to him was dis- 
loyalty to God. It was an hour of severe and 
rigid examination, to be followed by a penance 
imposed by Father Sebastian and performed by 
the penitent. 

The old lady at the chateau was sorely dis- 
turbed by the account of their visit and the con- 
duct of the priest. 

Father Sebastian is in charge of St. Omars,’’ 
said Madame de Luneville, and no more un- 
fettered intercourse will be allowed between us; 
I think that I can penetrate his designs. He 
knows that St. Omars is a fine old estate, and he 
keeps his eye fixed upon it; there are many ways 
to reach the goal, and it needs a priest to find 
them.” 

What do you think, mamma, of a visit to 
the capital ?” inquired the countess. 

‘Mf you go at all, you had better take advan- 
tage of an early opportunity, for I have no idea 
that the present policy will be long pursued.” 

“ What is the great difference between the 
Huguenots and Papists, grandma?” inquired 
Antoinette. 

‘^Something very important, my child, you 


64 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


may be sure, when so many, rather than abjure, 
have died for their faith/^ 

“ How did it all commence, grandma? I have 
looked tlirough the New Testament,, but not a 
word can I find there of all that the priests would 
teach us.” 

Even in the days of the apostles, Antoinette, 
there was need of warning; for even then the 
spirit of Antichrist made his advent.” 

“ AVhat is tliat spirit, grandma ?” 

“ Whatever is opposed to Christ, to his cha- 
racter or to his doctrines. In those early days 
philosophy raised its voice against our Lord, but 
the primitive Church retained its purity for 
nearly a century; indeed, until it came to be 
patronized by a Homan emperor. Then, to con- 
ciliate the heathen, vestments, processions, in- 
cense, pictures and other mummeries were intra- 
duced, and the purity of the early Church 
was sullied.” 

How came it that real Christians could allow 
such things, grandma?” 

‘‘They all had their origin in the native de- 
pravity of the human heart, that cage of unclean 
birds. Many heathen entered the Church with- 
out a change of heart, and brought their heathen- 


THE VALE OF ROSES. 


65 


ism with them into it. The world and the flesh 
unfortunately were on the side of the Church as 
it then appeared ; Satan knew that the anti-Chris- 
tian Trinity was the moving spirit of the Church - 
of Rome, though disguised under the name of 
Christianity. The world, the flesh and the devil — 
this is the trinity arrayed against our Lord.” 

Mamma, shall we not have those subjects for 
our morning lesson ?” asked Antoinette. 

“ Nothing would be more in accordance with 
ray wishes, my daughter; therefore what the 
martyrs died for shall be the subject of in- 
struction.” 

6* E 




CHAPTER V. 

WHAT THEY DIED FOR. 

T is one of those bright days that may not 
come often to the children of the chateau, 
for, undisturbed as yet, they are gathered 
around the countess to listen to her daily 
instruction. 

You remember, my darlings,” said the mother, 
that I promised to bring before you the great 
doctrines of Protestant Christianity, for it is im- 
portant that you should know the difference be- 
tween the religion of the priest and that of spir- 
itual Christianity.” 

How was it, dear mamma ?” said Guillaume, 
that worldly titles came so soon to be such 
objects of desire in the Church ?” 

You must remember that ever since the fall 
there have been two spirits in the world warring 
for the mastery, and when you see different forms 
of error, it is always the one arch enemy, unseen, 
66 




WHAT THEY DIED FOR. 


67 


spiritual, but revealing himself under different 
names. In one age he is called Simon de Mont- 
fort ; in another, Innocent III. ; in another, 
Charles IX. and Catherine de Medici ; in another, 
Louis XIV.; but all are revelations of the same 
arch enemy of Christ.’’ 

“That seems terrible, mamma,” said Antoi- 
nette, “ for those calling themselves the servants 
of Christ to be really servants of the evil one.” 

“All that they desired was personal aggran- 
dizement,” answered the countess, “ and for this 
they sacrificed everything good and holy. In the 
middle of the fourth century there were a few 
sincere ecclesiastics at Milan, who, disgusted with 
the corruption around them, withdrew from Italy 
and established their simple faith and worship in 
the secluded valleys of Piedmont, north of 
Italy.” 

“ Were those the Yaudois, mamma?” inquired 
Antoinette. 

“ They were taunted by the name of Mani- 
cheans, but it has been clearly proved that their 
confession of faith was pure, simple Protest- 
anism.” 

“ Who were the early martyrs among the Pied- 
montese, mamma?” 


68 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


“ Those whose names Church history loves to 
honor — Peter of Bruys, Henry and Arnold of 
Brescia, who carried the light of reformation from 
these lonely valleys into the Proven9al territories. 
A congregation of these humble Christians was 
formed at Orleans, where several of the clergy 
and many citizens were open adherents of the new 
tenets. A council was at once convened, and the 
usual mode for the conversion of heretics, burn- 
ing at the stake, was at once adopted. 

“ Peter Waldo is another name known in his- 
tory as the great promoter of the dissent of the 
Vaudois, having translated the gospels into their 
mother tongue.’^ * 

“And these were the men who died for their 
faith, mamma,^’ said Antoinette ; “ now let us see 
what that faith was.’’ 

“ First, they held the holy Scriptures to be the 
only infallible rule of faith and religion, without 
regard to the authority of the Fathers or to tradi- 
tion. That is one of the salient points of Pro- 
testantism.” 

“ That is what the priests abhor, mamma.” 

“ Yes, because they know the Bible to he the 

* See Carlos Martyn’s History of the Huguenots, page 42 
to 48. 


WIIAT THEY DIED FOR. 


69 


source of life and light and liberty, and as that 
sun rises upon the hemisphere theirs must set in 
darkness.’’ 

^^Do they believe in the apostles’ creed, 
mamma?” inquired Guillaume. 

“ They hold it entire, my son, in all its parts, 
just as we do.” 

It is grand to think of that, mamma, when 
we repeat the sacred words.” 

“Not more grand than to remember that at 
these primitive altars, shut out from the world 
and its honors, the simple prayer, ‘Our Father 
who art in heaven,’ from door and cave and 
mountain fastness, went up to heaven from these 
devoted Christians.” 

“ Did they acknowledge the sacraments, mam- 
ma?” inquired Antoinette. 

“ They acknowledged, as we do, only two, bap- 
tism and the Lord’s Supper, but renounced vest- 
ments, images, pictures, crosses, pilgrimages, pro- 
cessions, the worship of relics and the Koman 
false sacraments : they rejected also the doctrine 
of purgatory, with masses and prayers for the 
dead, acknowledging only heaven and hell.” 

“What did they teach concerning confession, 
mamma ?” 


70 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


‘^They allowed no indulgences or confession to 
a priest, with any of their consequences, except- 
ing mutual confessions of the faithful to each 
other ; they held the sacraments of baptism and 
the Lord’s Supper to be only symbols, denying 
the real presence of Christ in the bread and wine. 
They denounced Rome, denied obedience to the 
papal domination, and vehemently repudiated the 
notions that the pope had any authority over 
other churches, and that he had the power either 
of the civil or the ecclesiastical sword.” 

This holy faith is what they died for,” said 
Madame de Luneville ; nobly, heroically, calmly 
they received these doctrines as revelations of the 
word of God, and all else they trod beneath their 
feet. Back in the valleys of the Piedmont, in 
the horrible massacre of St. Bartholomew’s, a 
great multitude, ^of whom the world was not 
worthy,’ went home to glory wearing the martyr’s 
crown.” 

Our ancestors were among those at St. Bar- 
tholomew’s,” said Magdalen la Roche ; I won- 
der if the holocaust is yet complete?” 

I fear, mamma, that our faith might fail un- 
der such trials,” remarked Antoinette, who had 
listened with a deeply serious countenance. 


WHAT THEY DIED FOR. 


71 


^As thy days, so shall thy strength be.’ ‘ He 
shall deliver thee in six troubles ; yea, even in 
seven there shall no evil touch thee.’ These are 
the promises, my child.” 

If ever you are tempted to think lightly of 
these great doctrines,” said the grandmother, 
“ remember how many noble souls have yielded 
up their lives rather than deny them, and measure 
their value by that price.” 

Little J^atalie had been listening too, gather- 
ing enough to make her young heart tremble. 

“ Did they ever kill little girls, mamma, for 
loving Jesus ?” asked the child. 

“ There have been men cruel enough for that, 
my dear lamb,” said the mother, but the plea 
that they have made was to punish for refusing 
to worship the saints and the Virgin Mary.” 

couldn’t do that, mamma, for the Bible 
says, ‘ Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and 
him only shalt thou serve.’ ” 

‘^We must not trouble ourselves about these 
days, my dear children, for grace has always been 
given to the feeblest who put their trust in God, 
and sublime heroism has marked the last hours 
of women and even of feeble children.” 

‘^Let us sing the Te Deum, mademoiselle,” 


72 THE OLD CHItEAU. 

said Antoinette ; it seems so suitable after such 
a lesson.” 

Magdalen opened the organ, and, gathered 
around, the whole family with full hearts sang 
the ancient chant. 

With subdued and solemn step, Antoinette 
passed out to her morning’s task with mademoi- 
selle, and all day the sublime words of the chant 
were ringing in her ears and sinking down into 
her heart of hearts. Young as she was, she was 
learning the deepest notes of the diapason of 
mortal life while she sang : 

“ The glorious company of the apostles praise thee. 

The goodly fellowship of the prophets praise thee. 

The noble army of martyrs praise thee. 

The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknow- 
ledge thee.” 

Antoinette lay long awake on that summer 
night, looking out upon the lovely landscape 
bathed in a flood of moonlight, and wondering 
how man Avith his sinful heart could mar such 
a world of beauty. She had frequently heard 
conversations passing between her father and 
the good pastor which had often caused thrills 
of apprehension to pass through her heart, and to 
lead her nearer and nearer to that Saviour in 


WHAT THEY DIED FOR. 


73 


wliose arm is all the Christian’s strength, and re- 
peating the solemn words, 

“We therefore pray thee help thy servants 
whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious 
blood. Make them to be numbered with thy 
saints in glory everlasting,” she fell asleep. 

Bright and glorious rose the morning’s sun. 
Antoinette was an early riser. Seated at the 
window, she was gazing upon the lovely land- 
scape, the fresh verdure of hill and plain and 
valley bathed in the morning light. 

She opened her Bible and read passages from 
Isaiah descriptive of the future glory of the re- 
deemed Church ; 

“Violence shall no more be heard in thy land, 
wasting nor destruction within thy borders ; but 
thou shalt call thy walls Salvation, and thy gates 
Praise. 

“ The sun shall be no more thy light by day ; 
neither for brightness shall the moon give light 
unto thee ; but the Lord shall be unto thee an 
everlasting light, and thy God thy glory. 

“ Thy sun shall no more go down ; neither 
shall thy moon withdraw itself, for the Lord shall 
be thine everlasting light, and the days of thy 
mourning shall be ended.” 


74 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


A sweet and holy calm rested upon the spirit 
of the young Christian, and in communion with 
the Saviour of her soul she was comforted, even 
joyful. 

Passing out of her chamber, she stopped a 
moment at the front window of the chteau, and 
running up the path to the house she perceived 
Coralie’s pet dog. Fidele was a bright little 
animal, and had been trained to carry messages 
between the two families. Antoinette thought 
that she saw a note hung around the curly neck. 
Yes, it was so. In another minute she ran down 
stairs, and disengaging the note, patted the pretty 
dog and called him into the house. She soofi 
read its contents : 

Dear Cousins : I fear that I am watched 
by Father Sebastian, for last night, when I was 
reading my Testament, I am sure that I heard 
his footstep pause at my door — the light shines 
underneath. If he once suspects me, woe to my 
treasure ! But to-day I am going to take off the 
binding, and then I can hide it inside of the 
bosom of my clothing. If he discovers what I 
have, adieu to dear St. Omars, for some monastery 
would be my prison-house, I know. How I long 


WHAT THEY DIED FOR. 


75 


to see you, dear friends ! This harsh intolerance 
cannot proceed from the spirit of Christianity. 
I have looked for its source in vain in the meek 
and lowly footsteps of our dear Lord, whom I 
am just learning to know and love. 

Coralie and I ride out sometimes in the early 
morning hour before breakfast; most generally 
along the road through the glen. If you could 
only come to-morrow, I am sure that the countess 
would consent. Don’t disappoint us. 

Your cousin, 

Henri.” 

Antoinette read the note to her mother, who 
said at once. 

Go, my child ; it would olfend the priest only. 
Agnace would be glad, I know, to give her chil- 
dren some happiness.” 

Fidele carried back the answer, and received a 
caress and a piece of sponge-cake as a reward : 

You may look for us, dear cousin Henri, as 
early as seven o’clock, in the road named. 

Antoinette.” 

It was a propitious morning, and Guillaume 
and his sister were early in the saddle cantering 


76 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


along the shady road. They had not proceeded 
far when they heard the clattering'of horses’ hoofs 
behind them, and reining up their ponies, the 
cousins were once more united. 

‘‘ How did you get off, Henri?” inquired Guil- 
laume. 

Father Sebastian does not appear until eight 
o’clock, and he would hardly have the audacity 
to interfere with a ride on horseback; at all 
events, I am off before I see him, and I do not 
care much what he says when I return.” 

“ It seems so different now from former days,” 
said Antoinette, ‘‘ when we could see each other 
daily, if we were inclined.” 

We can trust Fidele, I think,” replied Henri. 
I w'as almost afraid to try him, it has been so 
long since we have used him thus.” 

I don’t suppose that he will forget, he is such 
an intelligent little creature,^’ replied Antoinette ; 
but if we are discovered, woe to poor Fidele !” 

Let us stop at the hamlet as we return,” said 
Guillaume; I have something for Father Paul.” 

By the side of the lovely stream through the 
shady glen trotted on our happy party, the fresh 
morning air painting their cheeks with rose tints, 
their eyes with lustre. 


WHAT THEY DIED FOK. 


77 


I can^t tell you, Antoinette,’’ said Henri, 

wliat pleasure I have in reading the precious 
Testament. Only think ! seventeen years old 
without having seen the word of God! When 
you gave me that precious copy, the first thing 
that I did was to read it straight through. Now 
I am studying it by subjects, learning all that it 
says about the titles of the Lord Jesus. All that 
I have ever learned from the priests is legends of, 
the saints and the Virgin, but the blessed Saviour 
has always seemed so far off until now.” 

I fear, Henri, that the possession of this pre- 
cious volume will cost you trouble,” said Antoi- 
nette. 

‘‘ Perhaps so, but I will never give it up to 
Father Sebastian ; he may take it from me if he 
can.” 

Coming home by the way of the hamlet, they 
stopped at the priest’s house, for they had heard 
that Father Paul had been sick. They knocked 
at the postern, and old Marguerite made her ap- 
pearance. 

Father Paul is not down stairs yet,” said the 
woman, “ but I will call him.” 

In loose gown and slippers the old man ad- 
vanced slowly. You have made an early start. 


78 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


children,” he said; that is good for young 
blood.” 

Mamma desired us to call with this basket, 
father,” said Guillaume, removing the lid and 
disclosing a young chicken and some nice fruit. 

The countess is very good,” replied the priest. 
‘‘ I am indebted to her and Madame de Gram- 
mont for all my delicacies. I pray to the Virgin 
every day for her, that she may be brought into 
the true fold.” 

We think that she does enjoy that privilege, 
Father Paul,” replied Antoinette. 

Wait a moment,” said the old man ; and step- 
ping out into the garden back of the house, he 
returned with two bouquets of flowers, which he 
presented to the young ladies. 

Lovely, are they not ?” said Father Paul ; 
‘^but they don’t rival the blushes on made- 
moiselle’s cheek,” looking admiringly at An- 
toinette. 

Father Paul flattering a heretic!” said the 
young girl, smiling. What would Father Se- 
bastian say should he hear it ?” 

“ He may say what he pleases,” replied the 
priest — a cross old churl ! He will never gather 
the lambs into the fold by his severity.” 


WHAT THEY DIED FOR. 


79 


The priest stood watching at the postern until 
they were out of sight, and sighed as he listened 
to their joyous laughter. “ The dark days are 
coming, he said, but I will never raise a finger 
against the people at the chateau — never.’^ 




CHAPTER VI. 




THE HUGUENOT CHAPEL. 


NDER former edicts the worship of the 
Huguenots had been barely tolerated. At 
the chateau those of the Reformed faith 
now gather every Sunday to hear the gos- 
from the lips of Pastor la Roche. The 
chapel is a small room, capable of accommodating 
about one hundred people, very simple in its ar- 
rangements, with communion-table, pulpit, and 
cushioned benches for seats ; the windows are 
small, save one at the east end, which floods the 
room with sunlight. There is an organ, presided 
over by Magdalen la Roche, who leads the music. 
Many of the peasants gather here on Sunday, 
and among them the good pastor exercises his 
ministry. 

Monsieur la Roche has seen many trials ; for 
in one of the attacks made upon his home in 
Montauban, his wife and two young children 
80 



THE HUGUENOT CHAPEL. 


81 


were murdered before his eyes with the betrothed 
of Magdalen. Escaping with one daughter, he 
was engaged by the Count de Luneville as tutor 
to his son and pastor for his family and the 
peasantry of the neighborhood. 

A look of patient resignation rests upon the 
saintly face of the pastor. Suffering has brought 
him into nearer union with the Saviour, and his 
chief joy on earth is to spend his life in the ser- 
vice of One who has died for him. 

Guillaume is tenderly attached to the good 
man, and many a pleasant hour do they spend 
together on the slopes of the orange grove, com- 
muning together of the things of another and a 
better world. 

Magdalen, too, is beloved and valued as a 
friend by the countess and her children. None 
can look at the placid brow, the expressive eye 
and the smile of tender sweetness around the 
mouth without being drawn to the governess. 
She is a fine musician, and has been very success- 
ful in imparting some of hoT skill to the young 
people at the chateau. 

But there is one day in each passing year when 
Magdalen and her father are more than usually 
depressed ; the day has rolled around again, and 


82 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Antoinette is found at mademoiselle’s door knock- 
ing for admittance. 

Shall I come in, mademoiselle?” Magdalen 
opened the door and bade Antoinette welcome, 
but traces of tears are upon her face as she mo- 
tions to the young girl to be seated. 

“ This is always a sad day, my dear,” said the 
governess, “for it is the anniversary of the 
great sorrow which has clouded my life. I have 
never told you my sad story, Antoinette, but you 
are old enough to understand its deep sorrow, and 
I will let you into the secrets of my heart. Ours 
had been so happy a family until that dreadful 
day. My two little sisters, Elise and Marie, were 
the dearest children that ever blessed a fireside. 
I had been betrothed for two years to K,en6 La- 
motte, a good and pious man who lived next door 
to us. 

“ On that dreadful day Ren4 and I had been 
learning a hymn, and while the summer wind 
blew softly into our parlor window, we sang the 
beautiful hymn, happy in each other and happy 
in our glorious hopes. 

“ Suddenly we heard a tramping of men’s feet 
and the clattering of sabres in our front garden. 
Raising the blind, I beheld a company of rough 


THE HUGUENOT CHAPEL. 


83 


soldiers striding over our lovely flowers. Oh, 
darling, how my heart sank within me, for I had 
heard of such visitations in a neighboring canton ! 

‘ Fly, Ren^, fly !’ I cried in my terror ; ^ they 
will kill you.^ 

‘ Not to leave you, Magdalen,’ was the quick 
reply. ‘ Jesus be near to give us grace !’ 

“ In another minute the hall was filled with sol- 
diers, whose noise had assembled the rest of the 
family. 

‘ Is this the house of Claude la Roche !’ said 
the leader. 

“ ^ It is, and I am that man,’ said my father. 

‘ We are rooting out these nests of heresy,’ 
said the man, ^and I am commissioned by the 
king to convert hetetics; here is the paper which 
you are to sign or die.’ 

“ The same paper was handed to each one, and 
one voice animated us all : 

‘ Deny our Lord and Saviour ? Never !’ 

^ Kill ! kill !’ exclaimed the brute. 

Gleaming daggers and flashing sabres filled 
the air, while shrieks resounded through the 
house. Frenzied, I rushed out. I knew not 
what they had accomplished ; for flying through 
the back garden on wings of terror, I sought the 


84 THE OLD CHATEAU. 

shelter of the woods in the suburbs of Montau- 
ban, my speed increased by the sounds of wailing 
and the shouts of fiends as I passed the once 
happy homes of Montauban. 

It was the sunset hour, and seeking the covert 
of a thick clump of trees, I remained until it 
was quite dark, and then hurrying to the humble 
cottage of Jacques Robinet, who was a member 
of my father^s church, I told my fearful story. 

^^About midnight, in company with Jacques 
and two other men, we sought the scene of 
slaughter. The placid moon looked down with 
her ])eaceful face upon the terrible scenes, and our 
way lay along a pleasant road where Ren^ and I 
had so often walked together in the summer twi- 
light. When we reached the town, we found 
marks of desolation and destruction everywhere — 
smoking ruins of happy homes, our beloved 
church razed to the ground — and on coming into 
the garden of our little Eden, there lay the 
bleeding bodies on the flow'er-beds, my mother’s 
beautiful hair soaked with gore, my darling sis- 
ters side by side, with their sweet young faces 
turned upward to the moon ; Rend, my beloved, 
in the pride of his manhood, bathed in the crim- 
son flood of a martyr’s death. My father yet 


THE HUGUENOT CHAPEL. 


85 


breathed; we lifted. him up and hoped that his 
wounds were not mortal. 

‘ Where are they, Magdalen, the dear ones ?’ 
were his first uttered words. 

‘ With Jesus, dear papa.’ 

‘ Father, forgive them for their deed of 
cruelty,’ was the calm response. 

Carried in the arms of the faithful men who 
had led me home, he was borne to the house of 
our good physician, who gave him. shelter and 
consolation, and then returned to perform the last 
rites for the precious remains of our beloved ones. 

In three rude coffins made by the men the 
martyrs were attired for the grave, for the news 
had spread among our people that the pastor’s 
family had been murdered. Clad in pure white 
robes brought by those faithful friends, they pre- 
sented an appearance of peace and purity. One 
by one the weeping company assembled in the 
garden, for there was no sleep in Montauban that 
night, save for babes who knew naught of sorrow. 

As the coffins were slowly lowered into the 
grave the people sung, in low, mournful music, 
the solemn words of the sixty-ninth Psalm ; 
‘Save me, O God! for the waters are come in 
unto my soul. 

8 


86 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


sink in deep mire, where there is no stand- 
ing; I am come into deep waters, where the floods 
overflow me/ 

‘^And then the good physician poured out his 
heart in earnest prayer for the bereaved ones left 
behind in this world of sorrow. The moon 
looked down upon that midnight funeral, and 
the tears of that weeping multitude went up to 
heaven, Antoinette, for I was enabled to think 
of them with their martyr’s crown and their 
])alms of victory, and not of the mangled remains 
that slumbered in the silent grave. They were 
with Jesus. 

With a resigned and patient spirit I turned 
away and took my place by my father’s bedside. 
He recovered slowly from his wounds, most ten- 
derly cared for by the suffering people of his 
charge, for many had been bereaved in that hor- 
rid massacre. 

Our holy and beloved church was a heap of 
ruins, and we had no place of public worship 
save in the dark shadows of the woods, where we 
assembled to sing our hymns of praise and to call 
upon the name of our blessed Redeemer. 

Papa had heard of the Count de Luneville, 
and determined, as soon as his strength returned, 


THE HUGUENOT CHAPEL. 


87 


to set out on foot to search for the chateau. It 
was a sad parting from the dear people of Mont- 
auban, for we had many friends among them and 
could not soon forget the hours that vre had 
passed together in the days of our earthly pil- 
grimage; but the word farewell was spoken in 
hope of reunion in that blessed world where the 
wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at 
rest. 

‘^As they shook the parting hand many dropped 
their contribution into the pastor’s palm to aid 
him on his journey. On the morning on which 
we set out a number accompanied us to the out- 
skirts of the town, and on the borders of the 
wood, kneeling, commended us to the care of our 
common Father, and sang the parting hymn.^ 

“ I felt desolate indeed, for I was leaving be- 
hind me Rene’s mother and sisters, who were so 
soon to have been mine. 

“ We were several weeks on our journey, for 
my father was still feeble, and had sometimes to 
stop two days ere we could proceed. Our jour- 
neying was in the night, for it was unsafe in a 
country so disturbed to encounter the dangers of 
the daylight. 

We were most kindly entertained by the cot- 


88 


THE OLD ChItEAU. 


tagers along the roadside, who frequently directed 
us to the chateaux of our own people, where we 
experienced the sweetness of knowing how these 
Christians loved one another. We were often 
sent on our journey in the carriages of the more 
wealthy; and on the last night of our march 
Monsieur Roscoe accompanied us himself to the 
Chateau de Luneville, for he was an acquaintance 
of the good count. 

The sight of that noble face, and the grasp of 
the warm hand, opened the flood-gates of feeling. 
Worn out, we sank upon the bosoms of our kind 
friends and felt at home. At once we w^ere en- 
gaged in the posts which we have ever since so 
happily filled.’’ 

Antoinette had listened with a beating heart 
and a face bathed in tears of sympathy to the sad 
recital. She replied, 

‘‘Truly the gospel has cost our people dear, 
mademoiselle, but who can doubt its preciousness 
when such rivers of blood have been shed in its 
defence ?” 

Dearer and sweeter is the bond which unites 
the two hearts after this interview ; for Antoinette 
has so frequently heard speculations concerning 
the future, among the visitors at the chateau, that 


THE PIUGUENOT CHAPEL. 89 

she is beginning to grow accustomed to the 
thought of trial for the Christians of Languedoc. 

All day she clung to mademoiselle, and at 
evening worship in the chapel, seated by her side 
with hands interlocked, they realized the blessed 
unity of Christian love. 

The Sabbath day has come again, and it is 
communion day at the chapel. Guillaume and 
Antoinette are to partake of their first communion, 
and in company with many of the humble peas- 
antry they sat around the table of their Lord 
and commemorated that solemn feast. There was 
an evening service on this day, and Antoinette 
])erceived a stranger seated in the most distant 
part of the chapel, listening with rapt attention 
to the preaching of Christ as the sinner’s only 
hope. • 

She thought that she recognized the figure, but 
was not sure until, after the scattering of the 
people, the stranger advanced, and throwing aside 
the cloak which partially concealed his features, 
revealed the face of Henri de Grammont. 

How came you here, Henri ?” she asked. 

I have managed to escape the priest, An- 
toinette. That book has made me athirst for the 


8 * 


90 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


gospel. None of you who have drunk all your 
lives from pure fountains can tell what this sim- 
ple service has been to me.^^ 

You are running a terrible risk, Henri.” 

Yes, I know that ; but I must find the truth, 
Antoinette, come what may.” 

“ It will grieve your mother, Henri.” 

•‘That is painful, but I must cast my lot 
among the people of the pure faith, and share all 
their trials if I may only enjoy their blessed 
hoi3es.” 

“ God bless you, my cousin, and give you grace 
to be faithful to the end ! I see nothing before 
you but sore afflictions.” 

“ I have read of those who ‘ have not counted 
tli^ir lives dear unto them^ if they could only 
‘ win Christ and be found in him but farewell, 
Antoinettei You may look for me again in this 
place.” 

Taking a path around the back grounds of the 
chateau, Henri lengthened his walk home. Meet- 
ing Father Sebastian at the gate, he bowed in 
passing. 

“ Whither so fast, my son ?” inquired the 
priest. 

“ To my mother, father.” 


THE HUGUENOT CHAPEL. 


91 


^‘And where have you been this evening 
I have walked along the glen, father ; it is 
delightful at this hour. Good-night, sir.^^ 

“The Holy Virgin bless and keep you, my 
son !” said the priest, crossing himself. “ You do 
not make the sign of the cross at that name 
blessed among women.” 

“ 1 did not suppose that it was due to aught 
but the Master himself, father.” 

“ Where did you learn such heresy ?” 

Henri did not answer, but turned into the 
house, and the priest muttered, 

“That is a restive spirit; he must be watched, 
and, if unruly, must be subdued.” 




CHAPTER VII. 

A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 

ATALIE has a present of a pony from 
I papa, and, like all children, is almost en- 
tirely engrossed with the thought of her 
new amusement. Guillaume has under- 
taken to train the animal and to teach his little 
sister to ride. Often on the bright summer 
mornings we see the three, Guillaume, Antoinette 
and Natalie, out on their excursions. 

Be careful, my son,^^ said the count ; Princess 
is a young creature and rather skittish yet ; do 
not trust Natalie out of your reach.’' 

I am not afraid, papa,” said the child ; for 
just as soon as I touch the rein she minds me. 
I. don’t feel as if there were any danger, and then 
Guillaume is such a good horseman.” 

‘^You enjoy your rides, Natalie?” said the 
count. 

92 



A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 93 


Indeed I do, dear papa. I never had such a 
present as this. I am never tired of riding.” 

The pleasant morning rides of the young peo- 
ple soon were spoiled ; for, after a few weeks of 
perfect enjoyment, returning one morning, they 
were suddenly surprised by the appearance of 
Father Sebastian riding out of the shadows of 
the woods and joining their party. 

You should have told me, my children, of 
these pleasant excursions,” said the priest, for I 
need just such exercise, and shall be most happy 
to join you every morning.” 

There was no reply, but none could have per- 
ceived on the marble face of Father Sebastian 
any expression of the malice which dwelt in his 
heart. 

This was the last of the rides with the De 
Grammonts ; the priest had willed it so. 

But Natalie was improving daily in managing 
her pony, and the rides were extended day by 
day still farther. 

Princess seemed so gentle, and the child enjoyed 
the amusement so intensely, that her father ceased 
laying his restrictions upon the party. It was 
such a joy to lift the little girl on the saddle and 
to kiss the glowing cheek as she started olf. The 


94 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


count would stand watching the riders, admiring 
the graceful little figure with her light curls 
waving in the wind, and listening to her musical 
laughter, as long as he could discern the retreat- 
ing forms. 

To the glen to-day,” said Guillaume, as he 
touched the rein of his pony. 

That is delightful, brother, along the borders 
of the stream,” was the reply. 

Guillaume’s two dogs, Victor and Hector, were 
determined to go too, and their master had to 
turn them back repeatedly ere he could be rid of 
them. 

The young equestrians had never enjoyed a 
more delightful ride. The day was balmy, the 
shady road along the stream charming, and the 
whole party, horses and riders, in excellent spirits. 
After they had ridden several miles, darting out 
of the woods, and panting after their long run, 
appeared the dogs once more, wearing a strange 
look of mingled fear and pleasure. 

^‘You’re there, you rascals!” said Guillaume, 
extending his whip, while the poor things crouched 
down low to the ground and put up their paws, 
as though to ask pardon for their offence. 

Let them come, brother,” said Antoinette. 


A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 95 

There is nothing else to do, sistQr/^ was the 
reply. 

As soon as the dogs found that they were tol- 
erated, round and round under the animals, in 
and out under their heels, and barking at their 
heads, the wild creatures continued their danger- 
ous demonstrations of joy. 

Princess was especially annoyed, shaking her 
pretty head, snorting, occasionally kicking out 
her hind legs to drive them off, and Natalie began 
to be alarmed. Guillaume strove in vain to drive 
them off; taking the reins of his little sister’s 
pony in his hand, he had some difficulty in man- 
aging the two. Suddenly Hector snapped at the 
heels of the pony, and taking a spring, she 
bounded from side to side, the dogs still in pur- 
suit. Princess reared and plunged, the child 
being unable to control her. Making another 
start, into the stream she plunged, throwing Na- 
talie into the water. One foot of the girl was 
entangled in the stirrup, and horse and rider 
struggling for freedom. 

Guillaume sprang from his horse, and so did 
Antoinette; into the stream they rushed. Natalie 
was struggling with the floundering pony, the 
very fastening of the stirrup keeping the child 


96 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


from sinking, though momently exposed to the 
kicking of the animal. Guillaume could swim, 
but not Antoinette. Seizing a bush, to which she 
clung with a death-grip, she succeeded with the 
other hand in reaching the stirrup, but auother 
plunge dragged the child under. 

Quick, Guillaume! here! here!” said An- 
toinette. I have hold of the stirrup yet.” 

‘‘Can you hold it while I keep off the ani- 
mal ?” 

“ Yes, dear brother. Oh, quick ! quick !” 

In another instant he was by Antoinette’s 
side. 

“ There ! there ! now is the moment !” 

And guided by the brave young girl, with one 
desperate effort he reached the foot and disengaged 
it from the stirrup. Natalie was rising now, and 
seizing the child, he swam to the shore, calling 
out, 

“Hold fast, Antoinette; I shall be back in a 
moment !” 

Released from her young rider. Princess w^as in 
another moment on the bank, and two men, who 
had now come to the rescue, were ready to receive 
Natalie. 

The men bore the child, pale and apparently 


A CLAIMANT FOR TPIE NECKLACE. 97 

lifeless, with the fair hair streaming over her 
shoulders, to a small cottage a few rods distant, 
while Guillaume returned for Antoinette, but she 
was nowhere to be seen. The need of strength 
and action having passed, she had fainted, and 
losing her hold, had fallen into the water. 

In an instant he was in the stream. She is 
rising, and in the twinkling of an eye Guillaume, 
taking her by one arm, swam to the shore. He 
laid her down, but no signs of life appeared save 
the slow beating of the heroic heart. 

“Antoinette! Antoinette, my darling! Oh 
speak, speak to me !’’ 

But no answer came from the pale lips. 

Carrying her to the cottage where Natalie lay, 
the men, who had succeeded in restoring the 
child, looked with more doubt upon the pale and 
silent figure before them. 

It was long ere any signs of returning life ap- 
peared. But life had not departed from the brave 
heart destined to take a part in future scenes of 
trial and terror. 

“Guillaume! Guillaume, where is Natalie?’’ 

“Safe, my darling. God be praised for his 
goodness ! But you did a very wTong thing, An- 
toinette, in exposing your life.” 

9 G 


98 


THE OLD CTIItEAU. 


“ Wliat would you have done without my help, 
Guillaume?” 

Nothing, Antoinette ; for the terror of poor 
Princess must have drowned the child if we 
had not loosened her foot from the stirrup. But 
how did you keep up your courage, my poor 
sister?” 

By praying, Guillaume. I asked for strength 
and God gave it to me ; I asked for deliverance 
and he sent it ; but take me to Natalie — I must 
see her.” 

Lifting her carefully, he laid her by Natalie’s 
side, who was now well enough to talk. 

I thought that I was going home to heaven, 
Antoinette, for I knew when I was sinking, and 
my thoughts were all of Jesus.” 

“ How shall we get my sisters home ?” said 
Guillaume; ‘‘for I suppose that the horses are 
gone.” 

“ They are safe,” replied one of the men, “ I 
brought them over and fastened them to a tree 
back of the house, but these young ladies cannot 
mount them to-day. If you will accept the con- 
veyance, I can lend my wagon.” 

“Thank you, my good man,” said the boy; 
“ we will gladly accept your kind oifer, for our 


A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 99 

friends must be alarmed. Have I not seen you 
before?’’ The man smiled. 

We are among the worshipers at the chapel,’’ 
was the reply. My name is Hugo Dugane. I 
am so glad that we have saved our own people!” 

The wagon was speedily brought to the door, 
and having obtained a couple of pillows for the 
invalids, the boys rode the horses and the party 
set out for the chMeau. 

Great anxiety was by this time felt at home, 
and when the wagon drove up to the gate, the 
count, who had been standing at the front window 
in the second story, hurried down in an agony of 
alarm. 

‘‘What does this mean, my boy?” said he, ad- 
dressing the rider of Princess. 

“They are all safe, sir, but there has been a 
very sad accident on the creek.” 

By this time the wagon door was open, and the 
father hurried to receive the occupants. 

“Don’t be alarmed, dear papa,” said Antoinette. 
“ We have had a narrow escape from drowning, 
but our Father in heaven heard our prayers, and 
we are all safe.” 

Natalie was still very weak. Lifting her out, 
the count carried her into the chateau and laid her 


100 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


down upon tlie couch in the library, followed by 
the rest of the party. 

The remainder of the family now came to hear 
the account of the mishap. 

While Antoinette sat supported on her mother’s 
bosom, and Natalie’s hand was held by the count, 
Guillaume told the story. 

^‘Antoinette behaved like a heroine,” said the 
boy; “for she knew nothing of swimming, but 
she never stopped to think of that while Natalie 
was in danger. Though I was terribly frightened 
Avhen I saw her throw herself into the w’ater, I 
was proud of my brave sister ; there she held on 
so long and so firmly to the branch of the tree, 
and showed so much presence of mind in the 
midst of such danger, directing all about the 
stirrup. If it had not been fur her assistance, I 
never could have got the foot disentangled and 
contended with both Natalie and Princess, and 
our sweet pet would have been lost to us.” 

Madame de Luneville sat with eyes fixed in a 
solemn gaze upon Antoinette, who, so pale and 
lovely with bent head, still leaned upon her 
mother. “She will merit the necklace,” said 
grandma, “I am certain. God grant that she 
may not with it wear the martyr’s crown !” 


A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 101 


These words were uttered in too low a tone for 
the young girl’s ear, but they sank deeply into 
the mother’s heart. 

The old lady came around to the chair of the 
countess, and stooping over pressed a long, pas- 
sionate kiss upon Antoinette’s pale cheek, as she 
said, 

God be praised, my darling, for this deliver- 
ance !” 

Just then, Pastor la Roche and Magdalen 
entered. 

Let us return thanks,” said the good man. 

In words of earnest, heartfelt gratitude, amid 
the kneeling family, he offered up the sweet in- 
cense of prayer and praise. Antoinette felt her- 
consecrated anew to the service of her Redeemer 
after that day of deliverance. 

Have I not always told you that Antoinette 
was sealed as the heroine of our family?” said 
the old lady, when alone with the countess. 

There is something so pure and lofty in that 
girlish heart that I think I can almost say that 
she will wear the amethyst necklace ; but it gives 
no joy, Eugenie, for it always has been earned 
by suffering.” 

The countess took an early occasion to call 


102 


THE OLD ChItEAU. 


upon Hugo Dugane, who had been so kind to her 
children on the day of their accident. 

I have seen you at our chapel, my friend, 
have I not inquired the lady. 

‘‘ Frequently, madame ; my wife and myself 
are regular worshipers there.’’ 

Will you say that I wish to see her, Hugo?” 

She is out with the cows, madame, but I will 
soon call her in and going to the back door, he 
called, 

“ Nannette, the countess is here and wishes to 
see you. Robert can stay with the cows.” 

In another moment a cheerful-looking woman, 
in the dress of a French peasant, made her ap- 
pearance. 

I came to thank you, Nannette, for your 
kindness to my children, and to invite you to our 
Saturday meetings.” 

At what hour, madame ?” 

From twelve to one I meet the wives of our 
peasants to give them religious instruction, and 
to aid them in other ways to bear the burdens of 
life; from one until two the children come, and 
our family all join in teaching them.” 

‘‘I have heard of those meetings, madame, 
and will gladly avail myself of your goodness. 


A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 103 

I have five children, and can always leave one at 
home until I return. Fanchon has heard the 
girls talk of Mademoiselle Antoinette, and I 
know she will be glad to come, if she can have 
her for her teacher.” 

It shall be as you wish, Nannette, for my 
daughter has room for several more. Here is 
something for you, my good woman ; in such a 
large family as yours I dare say that a few livres 
will always be acceptable.” 

Dropping a courtesy, the peasant thanked her 
kind benefactress, saying, 

I have often heard of the Countess de Lune- 
ville, and am happy to have had a chance to serve 
her.” 

Dropping a few pieces of silver in the hand of 
each of the children, the countess took her leave, 
followed by the blessings of these humble 
people. 

On the following Sunday evening, Henri de 
Grammont was again among the worshipers at 
the Huguenot chapel, and after the service joined 
Pastor la Koche. 

I came to ask your prayers, my kind friend,” 
said the youth, for I see days of trial before me. 
Father Sebastian suspects me, and I know what 


104 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


must follow open abjuration of the faith of 
Rome.” 

He will never relax his hold upon the estate 
of St. Omars, Henri, and whatever will bring 
that into the clutches of the Church will be 
steadily pursued. But how did you come to a 
knowledge of the truth, Henri 

“ By the power of the word of God only ; there 
I read, ‘Ask and it shall be given unto you ; seek 
and ye shall find ; knock and it shall be opened 
unto you.^ Then I read the blessed words/ ‘ If 
ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts 
unto your children, how much more shall your 
Father which is in heaven give good things to 
them that ask him !’ Believing that, I plead the 
promise, praying for the best of gifts, the Holy 
Spirit ; light dawned upon ray mind, and in the 
silent midnight hour I have sought and found 
my Saviour.’^ 

“ Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift !” 
said the pastor. 

“ Then I took the doctrines of the Church of 
Rome, and one by one I brought them to the 
revelation; but not a word for penance, or the 
mass, or priestly confession and absolution — not a 
word of salvation by sacraments could I find. 


A CLAIMANT FOR THE NECKLACE. 105 


Jesus only, as our justifying righteousness, do I 
find in tlie New Testament, and I must abide by 
my convictions, come what may.^’ 

Pastor la Roche wore a serious countenance as 
he listened to Henri’s recital, for he understood 
the wily character of Father Sebastian, and knew 
what was before the young heir of St. Omars. 

Madame de Luneville is found, by some strange 
fascination, often in her hours of retirement, gaz- 
ing upon the ancient heir-loom of the family. 
She is filled with troubled visions of the future, 
for a shadowy seer seems to say that her darling 
Antoinette will certainly win the inheritance of 
the amethyst necklace ; and with a deep sigh and 
whispered prayer she closes the casket. 




CHAPTER VIII. 


THE VINTAGE. 


fOR weeks the children of the chateau have 
been daily watching the approach of the 
vintage, for under the sunny skies of 
2)^ Languedoc the vineyard of St. Omars 
blooms with rare luxuriance. Grapes of every 
hue hang in rich clusters on the low vines, each 
day blue and rosy purple deepening in their tints, 
giving bright promise of an abundant gathering. 

Antoinette is an early riser, and while the sun 
has but just appeared above the horizon, she is 
attracted to the window of her chamber by sounds 
of joyful melody. It is the morning of the vint- 
age, and coming along the lanes and through the 
fields from the hamlet and the surrounding coun- 
try are seen, in picturesque groups, companies of 
the peasantry in their bright costume, with short 
skirts and grotesque caps, on which are mounted 
baskets of large dimensions for female heads. 

106 



THE VINTAGE. 


107 


Accompanied by youth with hautboy, fife and 
drum, they are on their way to the vineyard of 
St. Omars, the musical instruments serving as 
summons to tlie cottagers to join the party. 

On drawing near to the stopping-place, the in- 
struments are silent and the voices take up the 
cheerful vintage song : 

Come, come, come. 

Come to the vintage, come. 

The purple grapes are ripe. 

Come with hautboy and with drum. 

Kejoice, rejoice, the skies are clear. 

Rejoice, for gathering-time is here. 

Come, come, come. 

Glad youths and maidens come. 

The vines are laden down. 

Come from your cottage home. 

Rejoice, rejoice, with spirits light, 

Rejoice, rejoice, with faces bright. 

Come, come, come, 

Come on this happy day ; 

On this glad vintage morn 
Let every heart be gay. 

Rejoice, rejoice, we’ll bear our part, 

Then seek our homes with joyful heart. 

By this time Antoinette had summoned all the 


108 


THE OLD chateau. 


young persons to the window, who watched the 
gay procession as it passed along. 

Isn^t it pretty, sister said Natalie. 

Yes, dear, and we must hurry to join them ; 
we promised our cousins that we would come.’' 

Soon after breakfast, with basket in hand, the 
young people of the chateau set out for St. Omars. 
There could not have been a brighter day ; the 
dewdrops had not yet vanished from the lovely 
flowers, the air was filled with fragrance and the 
melody of singing birds. Sad that the moral 
world of France in those troubled days should 
have been so little in harmony with this peaceful 
scene ! 

As they are tripping down the lane, Madame 
de Luneville is standing with the countess on the 
front piazza watching the merry party. 

Happy childhood said the old lady ; how 
blessed is this sweet season of life, Eugenie ! and 
yet, unbroken as it has been, I always look at 
our dear children in their gayety with feelings of 
misgiving, for it may not always be so with them.” 

What a sunbeam is our darling Clarice !” re- 
plied the mother; “look at her flying footsteps 
and her sparkling black eyes. I wonder if the 
child knows how to walk ?” 


THE VINTAGE. 


109 


genuine French child, Eugenie, with all 
the vivacity of our volatile nation.’^ 

“ So like my sister Clarice, mamma, who was 
the very light and joy of our fireside.’^ 

I tremble for Natalie,” said the old lady, for 
no mimosa was ever more sensitive, and in a 
world of change she may have much to suffer.” 

I have given them all to God, mamma,” said 
the countess, solemnly, ^‘and he will watch over 
them if I only trust in him.” 

The children are crossing the river now, and in 
a few minutes are met by their cousins, Henri 
and Coralie. The former looks pale and serious, 
but extends a warm greeting to the visitors. 

‘‘Thrice welcome, Antoinette!” said the youth; 
“ we shall have a happy day, I hope, for Father 
Sebastian is away.” 

“ What makes you so pale and languid, Henri?” 
inquired the young girl. 

“ Penance and confinement, Antoinette ; the 
priest suspects my disaffection, and I am fre- 
quently obliged to live upon bread and water. I 
have not been to mass for several weeks, and I 
feel that this is only the beginning of persecution.” 

“ Does your mother know of his treatment, 
Henri ?” 


10 


no 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


^‘She does, Antoinette; but although it wrings 
her heart, she thinks that it is all right, if it only 
bring me back to the true Church.’^ 

Why do you suppose that he suspects you, 
Henri 

1 see him watching me. I feel his presence 
even when he is away, for frequently, when I sup- 
pose that he is to be absent for some time, he is 
back suddenly, and I am pretty certain that he is 
well acquainted with my movements through 
Bettine, who is a faithful servant of his. Then 
he has missed me from mass, hence the pen- 
ances.^^ 

Come, now, Henri, let us join the vintagers 
and have one happy day at least.^^ 

With song and merry jest the busy workers 
spent the livelong day, pausing at noon to eat 
their lunch, the He Lunevilles joining the family 
at St. Omars at dinner. 

The hours passed too swiftly to the reunited 
households, and when the vesper-bell rang, the 
Romanists paused to repeat their aves, the priest 
having granted an indulgence for absence from 
the chapel on this one condition. 

Bettine is near the young He Grammonts, 
closely watching their movements. 


THE VINTAGE. 


Ill 


“ Master Henri, whispered the servant, where 
are your devotions ? did you remember the vesper 
hourr 

I did, Bettine, but not in the way that you 
hint, my good woman.’’ 

“ How then. Master Plenri ? don’t you pray to 
the blessed Virgin ?” 

The youth smiled as he replied, 

‘‘She is only the mother of our dear Lord, 
Bettine, and to worship her would be to commit 
the sin of idolatry.” 

Bettine crossed herself as she replied, 

“Holy mother, forgive him; this is heresy in- 
deed ; take care of Father Sebastian, Henri.” 

The sun is setting now behind the distant hills, 
the vesper-bell still sounding its soft chimes over 
the water, and the vintage-day is ended. The 
company are preparing for departure, each laden 
with large baskets of grapes, while wagons are 
carrying away the fruits of the day’s labor. 
Singing their evening vintage song, they are 
suddenly stopped by the sight of three or four 
frightened children rushing in among them. 
Pauline Milot’s son is one. 

Seizing his mother’s hand, he exclaims, in 
agony, 


112 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Come, quick, mamma, quick ; Uncle Gaspard 
Leroux and Cousin Felix have just come; they 
have been six days and nights on their journey ; 
they are so tired, so hungry, so full of trouble.^^ 
What is the matter, Maurice ?’^ 

“Aunt Elise and my two cousins, Mathilde and 
Rosine, are all murdered by the dragoons.^^ 

The vintagers had now gathered around the 
children, who, with white faces and trembling 
lips, told their story. 

The joy of the day had been quenched by these 
sad tidings, and instead of the usual vintage 
dance in the evening on the green sward of the 
hamlet, all sought their homes with steps sub- 
dued, whispering to each other and wondering 
how far olf the afflicted canton was from their 
own home in fair Languedoc. 

The children of the chMeau are returning home, 
but with very different feelings from the morning, 
for the tidings from Gaspard Leroux have made 
their young hearts tremble with alarm. 

“Come in, my darlings,’^ said grandma, who 
almost felt as if the cruel hands of the dragoons 
were already upon her grandchildren. “ God 
have mercy upon us and prepare us for the dark 
days that are coming!” 


THE VINTAGE. 


113 


We will follow Pauline Milot to her cottage. 

Sitting with his head bowed upon the table 
and his son leaning upon his father’s knee, the 
poor woman beheld her brother. 

“ Oh, Gaspard, my brother ! my poor afflicted 
brother !” 

In the next minute the two were locked in 
each other’s arms. 

“ Elise ! Elise ! my murdered wife,” sobbed the 
the poor man. When somewhat recovered, he 
related his sad story : 

‘‘We had spent a happy day together, Pau- 
line,” said the sufferer; “it was our Rosine’s 
birth-day — -just twelve years old. I had come 
home sooner from my work ; Elise had a nice 
supper prepared, and Neighbor Lafitte’s two 
children, Julie and Hortense, came to spend the 
evening with us; we had just arisen from the 
table, and I had taken my Bible from the shelf 
to read our evening chapter ; — you know, Pauline, 
how pretty my Elise was, and on that evening to 
iny eyes, she looked as charming as on our wed- 
ding-day.” 

Just here Gaspard broke down, while Felix 
shed bitter tears, and the father continued his 
story : 

10 * 


H 


114 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


We thought that we heard horses’ hoofs on 
the lane that led to our house. 

‘‘‘Who can that be Gaspard?’ exclaimed my 
wife. 

“ I went to the door, and tramping up the lane 
came a company of fierce dragoons, twelve in 
number. Dismounting at our cottage door, the 
leader, a fierce, bold man, called out : 

“‘Here, varlet, get us something to eat! We 
have ridden fifty miles to-day, and are hungry as 
wolves.’ 

“With trembling limbs I turned to Elise, 
saying, 

“‘Wife, will you get these men something to 
eat?’ 

“‘We have only enough for two, Gaspard,’ was 
the meek reply. 

“ ‘ Hold your impudent tongue,’ said the leader, 
striking my gentle wife with his sabre ; ‘ go and 
bring in enough to fill us all.’ 

“ With faltering steps, accompanied by my son, 
she went among the neighbors gathering what she 
could, but not enough to satisfy twelve hungry 
men. 

“After they had devoured all and milked our 
cows, the leader said. 


THE VINTAGE. 


115 


Now to business, boys. We are sent to con- 
vert liereties ; do you understand ? Now, sign 
this paper,^ handing it first to my wife. 

‘“What is it?’ inquired Elise. 

‘“It abjures the Protestant faith and promises 
obedience to the holy Church.’ 

“‘That 1 can never do — deny my Lord and 
Saviour — never !’ 

“‘Recant, and live; refuse, and die.’ 

“ ‘ Gaspard, my love, farewell ! I can’t deny 
my faith.’ 

“In another minute one dragoon seized my dar- 
ling by the hair of her head, and dragging her 
out into the front yard, with one stroke of his 
sabre severed her head from her body, while two 
others committed the same cruel deed upon my 
two sweet children, Mathilde and Rosine, and 
our guests, Julie and Hortense. Felix had 
escaped through the back window in the confu- 
sion. One had already wounded me, leaving me 
as he supposed dead, and the whole company then 
went on their way through our happy village, 
murdering man, woman and child. 

“ I awoke to consciousness toward daylight, 
and one of the neighbors who had survived took 
me home, and set out to search for Felix, whom 


116 . 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


they found hidden in the loft of neighbor La- 
fitte’s barn. 

They buried my martyred family, and then 
carefully nursed me until I recovered from my 
wounds. They had destroyed my home ; I had 
nothing left of that but memory, and after six 
days of toil and travel I have reached you, Pau- 
line, a heart-broken man, with no hope in this 
world; all my treasures in heaven, save Felix, 
my son.’’ 

The Lord have mercy upon you, my brother,” 
said Pauline ; ^ He doth not willingly afflict nor 
grieve the children of men.’ Our light afflictions, 
which are but for a moment, work out for us a 
far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory.” 

They were faithful unto death, Pauline,” said 
the afflicted husband, ^^for I heard Mathilde’s 
last words, ^ Jesus, I come, I come !’ and Rosine, 
too, said, in low tones, ‘ Father, forgive them.’ ” 

Ours is a baptism of blood, Gaspard ; let us 
pray for grace to follow those beloved ones.” 

The countess had heard this tale of sorrow, and 
had hastened to Pauline’s cottage ready to pour 
the oil of consolation into their bereaved hearts. 

Come to the chapel, Gaspard,” said the lady ; 
we have service to-night, and our good pastor 


THE VINTAGE. 


117 


will have words of comfort for you. Who knows 
how soon we may be called to pass through just 
such sorrow ourselves 

It was a deeply solemn company that assembled 
in the chapel on the evening of that eventful day, 
all hearts going upward to God for grace and 
strength to bear the days of trial. Tender and 
holy were the words of the good pastor, for out 
of a heart that had suffered like sorrows did he 
comfort the bereaved and afflicted ones among his 
hearers. 

Sweet, low music, inspired by the most com- 
passionate sympathy, followed the fingers of Mag- 
dalen la Roche as the soft requiem for the mar- 
tyrs of these troubled days filled the chapel, and 
sank down into the hearts of the worshipers, calm- 
ing and soothing their deep sorrows. 

The day commenced in brightness with the 
glad vintage song had ended in the Miserere. 
Father Sebastian alone rejoiced in the events of 
the day, for he had returned at a late hour to 
hear the tidings. 

^‘Disobedience to holy mother Church must 
be punished, Bettine,” said ‘the priest, as he heard 
the tale. 

Who knows how much of his own secret agency 


118 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


had fired the match that had exploded in this 
fearful magazine of cruelty and bloodshed ? 

Woe to those who swell the noble army of 
martyrs ! 

Glory and honor and immortality to those who 
wear the martyr’s crown ! 

****** 




CHAPTER IX. 

THE ORANGE GROVE. 

EYERAL years have passed over the 
dwellers at the chateau, where events are 
still ripening for the fearful days yet to 
come. 

It is winter in Languedoc — a season when 
flowers linger still, for on the south side of 
the chMeau a lovely grove of pomegranates and 
oranges are even now in bloom. 

Here it is that the young people love to meet, 
and amid the sweet perfume of the orange blos- 
soms they frequently prepare their lessons for the 
next day. Magdalen and the good pastor are 
with them on this bright and sunny Tifternoon — 
the father with his book, and the daughter with 
tier needlework. 

‘‘ How lovely is the face of Nature said the 
pastor. What a sad thing that it should be so 
marred by the wickedness of man !” 



119 


120 


THE OLD chateau. 


It seems to me so wonderful/^ said An- 
toinette, “that men can do dreadful deeds of 
cruelty in the very presence of smiling skies, 
green fields and lovely flowers.” 

“And yet it is so,” said Magdalen, “ for in the 
space of a few short hours monsters in human 
shape laid waste our lovely garden and desolated 
our whole village ; next day, when we walked 
amid the ruins, there was nothing but prostrate 
fences, trampled flower beds and smouldering 
ruins of our once pretty homes.” 

“Gaspard Leroux tells the same story,” said 
Guillaume; “but how is it — is there no law 
against such outrages?” 

The pastor smiled : “ Yes, Guillaume, for the 
Romanist, but none for the persecuted Huguenot, 
for everywhere the authorities sanction the law- 
less acts of the mob.” 

Natalie drew close to the pastor, and raising 
her soft blue eyes to his face, inquired, 

“ Is there danger for us ?” 

“There is danger throughout France for our 
persecuted flocks, my dear,” was the meek reply ; 
“ but God will not send his children more than 
they are able to bear.” 

“ Felix was telling me how they murdered his 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


121 


two sweet sisters, just because they were Protest- 
ants. I feel very much afraid. Pastor la Roche, 
how far away is Gaspard’s home ?’^ 

“About two hundred miles, Natalie.’^ 

“The dragoons would soon come that far on 
their swift horses.’^ 

“God is our refuge, Natalie — a very present 
help in time of trouble.’’ 

During this conversation, Clarice in her inno- 
cent merriment had been sparkling among the 
sweet flowers, gathering a bouquet of pomegran- 
ates and orange blossoms, singing and sporting 
gay as a merry bird, for no care had yet dimmed 
the bright black eye or quenched the music of 
her sweet voice. 

Just then Henri and Coralie made their ap- 
pearance among them. 

Henri was a noble-looking youth of nineteen, 
with a rich olive complexion, fine dark hair 
and eyes, and Coralie was a softened likeness of 
her brother; but Henri was pale now, his cheeks 
sunken, the fire of his eye dimmed — a languor 
unusual to the former animated youth pervaded 
his whole aspect. They were received with a 
joyous welcome. 

“This is my old seat,” said Henri, placing 
11 


122 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


himself between Guillaume and Antoinette, Co- 
ralie taking the other side of her cousin. 

‘^You are pale and thin, Henri,’’ said Guil- 
laume. 

He replied, with a faint smile. 

Domestic unhappiness, penance and confine- 
ment have done that,” was the answer. The 
priest knows all now, and the work of conversion 
has commenced. I can bear bread and water 
three times a week and midnight vigils twice, 
but my mother’s grief wrings my very heart.” 

^^What has impressed you most, Henri, in 
comparing the two systems. Popery and Prot- 
estanism ?” 

always believed that God was good and 
loved his creatures, and knew that if he had 
given a religion to man, it would be, like himself, 
pure and holy. I could not call that benevolent 
which delighted in persecution and cruelty for 
opinion’s sake, and therefore have been looking 
for a religion of love. I have discovered it. Pas- 
tor la Eoche, in the religion of the Lord Jesus 
Christ, and some day I hope to preach to lost 
sinners the gospel that I have found.” 

‘^God grant that it may be so, Henri! but 
there are seas of trouble before you.” 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


123 


I knoAV it. When the priest fails in his 
present mode, harsher measures will be adopted, 
and I should not wonder if a monastery should 
be my prison yet ; but should I disappear, seek 
Father Paul — he may succor me.’’ 

“Do you know that we are going to Paris?” 
said Antoinette. 

“ Is that really so ?” replied Henri. “ It seems 
strange that your father should go there in these 
troubled days.” 

“ I heard him tell mamma, the other day, that 
he had received a letter from an old friend, the 
Count de Beauvilliers, urging him to come for 
state reasons ; and although mamma discouraged 
the idea, he replied that if he could benefit his 
people by such a visit, he felt that he ought 
to go.” 

“ I didn’t like the thought, Antoinette.” 

“ The letter contained a flattering message from 
the king, and it has made papa thoughtful. If 
he goes, mamma will accompany him, and he 
says Guillaume and I shall go too.” 

“ Did you hear the news, Guillaume?” inquired 
his cousin. 

“ What news, Henri ?” 

“ That we are probably going to Paris.” 


124 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


I hope that it is so, for I have never seen the 
great metropolis.’^ 

We have,” replied Henri, but it was several 
years since, and it would seem quite new to us 
now. I remember that grand old palace the 
Louvre, the many splendid churches, Versailles 
with its new fountains, and other sights that in- 
terested me there.” 

“ How do we get there ?” inquired Antoinette. 

By post-coaches ; and it is quite a long jour- 
ney, I can assure you.” 

When are we to set out ?” 

I suppose very soon, as I heard mother and 
Father Sebastian talking about it at dinner to- 
day. But we shall -miss the orange blossoms, 
Antoinette, for Paris is so much farther north 
that the climate is very different from sunny 
Languedoc.” Then, turning to Pastor la Roche, 
Henri inquired, “ Can you lend me a book on 
Church history ? Father Sebastian supplies me 
for one side, but I want to read both.” 

Come with me, my son,” said the good man ; 

I have just what you need.” 

Leading him to the library, he gave Henri a 
volume which would take him some weeks to fin- 
ish, reading, as he did, in the hours of the night. 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


125 


That will be quite a treasure/’ said the youth. 

I want to go deep into the whole subject.” 

The evenings are growing tolerably cool now, 
and grandma has promised to entertain the young 
})eople with some of her interesting stories about 
the days of the past. It is necessary to have a 
little fire in the family-room, and, seated around 
the old lady, they are eager for the recital of the 
first story. 

What shall it be to-night, grandma?” in- 
quired Antoinette. 

The massacre of St. Bartholomew’s, I think. 
’Twas in the year 1572, about ninety-two years 
since, that this terrible event took place, in the 
days of Charles IX. and Catharine de Medici.” 

“Were any of our ancestors there, grandma?” 
inquired Guillaume. 

“ My great-grandfather was among the vic- 
tims,” was the reply. “ Enticed to the court by 
the perfidy of Charles and Catherine, large num- 
bers of Huguenots had assembled at the capital 
to celebrate the marriage of Henry of Navarre 
and Margaret de Valois, the king’s sister. Mar- 
garet was a reluctant bride, for she openly de- 
clared her preference for the duke of Guise; but 
state policy prevailed, and they were marrigd on 


126 THE OLD CHATEAU. 

a scaffold erected for the purpose, fit emblem of 
those ill-omened nuptials.’’ 

I should think that they would have felt 
some misgivings about such a place for a wed- 
ding,” said Antoinette. 

They had a grand festival at night,” said the 
old lady, “ but the heart of neither was in the 
gayety. After this terrible events crowded upon 
each other for four days. An attempt was 
made to assassinate Admiral Coligny, a distin- 
guished Huguenot. There was a fearful excite- 
ment among the populace, endangering the lives 
of the persecuted people ; active steps were taken 
to restore quiet, and everything was done to lull 
the suspicions of the Huguenots. 

Weltering in his blood, the admiral was 
visited by the king, the queen-mother and many 
of the nobility; great indignation was expressed, 
and the king went so far in his hypocrisy as 
openly to notify his high displeasure to all the 
public ambassadors.” 

“ What a monster !” exclaimed Guillaume. 

‘^You may well say that,” responded the nar- 
rator, for never were there two more diabolical 
and cruel dissemblers than Catharine de Medici 
and her son. Their conduct at this time quieted 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


127 


the fears of the Huguenots, but during all this 
while the conspirators worked with unremitting 
zeal, for they knew that their plot must be accom- 
plished in a very few days. 

“ The time was fixed for the eve of St. Bartho- 
lomew, and a pistol fired in front of the Louvre 
Avas to be the signal for the butchery. 

Under j)retence of protecting the admiral and 
his friends, the Huguenots were lodged in one 
quarter of the city. Around this doomed space 
was drawn a cordon of the duke of Anjou^s 
guards, under the plea of safety. Arms were 
distributed among the mob, and orders sent to all 
parts of France to make the massacre universal. 

The aAvful hour drew near. At midnight the 
pistol was fired and the work of destruction com- 
menced. 

The king cried, ^ Havoc and the wild popu- 
lace rushed through the streets crying, ^ Blood ! 
blood !’ 

The guard of the Huguenots were suddenly 
transformed into a host of demons. The dukes 
of Guise and Montpensier rode through the 
streets, crying, 

‘ It is the will of the king — slay on, to the 
last, and let not one escape 


128 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The wicked monarch, seated at a window of 
the Louvre, amused himself by sliooting down all 
who came within the reach of his musket. 

• At the first signal, the duke of Guise hastened 
to the bedside of the admiral, pausing only to 
ring the great bell of the palace, which was done 
on days of rejoicing. 

‘‘Accompanied by two assassins, the duke re- 
mained below while the two bravos who had 
accompanied him rushed into the admiraks room, 
who, alarmed at the tumult, had risen from his 
bed. Finding that his hour had come, he made 
no resistance, but, after calmly composing himself 
in prayer, he yielded up his life with the dignity 
and holy faith of a Christian. All manner of 
indignity was heaped upon the remains of the- 
noble martyr, but after the decapitated body had 
swung for days upon a gibbet, the Marshal Mont- 
morenci, Coligny^s cousin, cut the insulted re- 
mains down and secreted them. After some time, 
they were buried in the tomb of his ancestors, at 
Chatillon-sur-Loing.’^ 

“ How was your grandfather murdered ?’’ in- 
quired Antoinette. 

“ In the street, by the side of his wife, who had 
been furnished by one of her Catholic con- 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


129 


nectiuiis with a badge to distinguish the two 
parties.” 

‘‘Can these days come again?” inquired the 
young girl. 

“ The spirit of Jesuitism is ever the same — 
cunning, crafty, cruel. But to proceed : Escape 
was impossible ; the gates of the city were 
guarded ; lights placed in the windows deprived 
the Reformers of even the protection of the night ; 
patrols paraded the streets butchering every one 
they met. 

“ From the streets, as the murderers grew 
wilder, they rushed into the houses. Priests 
went before, holding a crucifix in one hand and 
a sword in the other, exhorting the mob to kill 
alike relatives and friends, promising absolution 
from all crimes for these ‘ acts of devotion.’ 

“From seventy to one hundred thousand vic- 
tims were slaughtered, and two heroes, who re- 
fused obedience to the bloody orders of Charles 
IX., were despatched by the infernal skill of the 
royal poisoner. 

“ The terrible massacre lasted for a week, and 
has since been known as ‘ The Paris Matins.’ A 
decree was issued by the king that in future the 
anniversary of St. Bartholomew’s should be 
I 


130 


THE OL-D CHATEAU. 


celebrated by public processions and feiix-de- 
joie. 

‘‘Although the sound of a trumpet had for- 
bidden further murder, the slaughter was not so 
easily suppressed, for from time to time the tocsin 
sounded everywhere, and the sans culottes stormed 
the houses of the Huguenots — robbing, murder- 
ing — still sounding the old cry, ‘The king desires 
and commands it !’ The minds of men were so 
filled with horror that they both feared each other 
and were afraid to be alone. 

“ Henry IV. used to s^y that during the seven 
days after the slaughter flocks of ravens, perched 
upon the eaves of the Louvre, croaked loudly and 
lugubriously, always commencing as the palace- 
clock struck twelve. 

“ He also mentions another instance, which he 
thus relates : ‘ For several days before the mas- 
sacre commenced I noticed, while playing at dice 
with the dukes of Alen9on and Guise, that drops 
of blood clotted the table. Twice I tried to wipe 
them off, when they reappeared ; upon which, 
seized with horror, I quitted the room.’ ” 

“ Was this really so, grandma inquired Na- 
talie. 

“ I suppose not, really, but when men’s minds 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


131 


are filled with apprehension the imagination plays 
strange tricks. But there were visitations at the 
bedside of the king, where conscience, God’s vice- 
gerent upon earth, filled the air with horrors. 
Eight days after the massacre, Charles summoned 
blenry to his bedside at midnight. He found the 
wretched king filled with terror at a wild tumult 
of voices that sounded through the chamber; 
they seemed like distant shrieks and bowlings, 
mingled with the raging of a furious multitude, 
with groans and curses, as on that fearful night. 

Messengers were sent into the city to see if 
there was any new tumult, but they returned say- 
ing that all was quiet, and that the noise must be 
in the air. Henry could never bear to recall the 
scene — the affrighted courtiers huddled into the 
middle of the room, the half-distracted king and 
the agonized wail of the phantom voices : he 
could never refer to it without a horror that made 
his hair stand on end. Thus, Nemesis, the 
avenger, haunted the monarch’s midnight hours, 
uttering faint whispers of the hereafter in the day 
of retribution.” 

Did you never wonder, grandma, why God 
permits the wicked to oppress the righteous?” 
said Antoinette. 


132 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Many a time, my dear child ; but we must 
remember that here the tares and the wheat grow 
together until the harvest, then comes the day of 
sifting, when the tares shall be burned up and 
the wheat gathered into the garner.” 

‘‘Still, grandma, it was the pure faith that suf- 
fered while the wicked triumphed.” 

“Yes, Antoinette, for a while; but measure 
time and its sorrows with eternity and its un- 
speakable joy, and you will learn to wait patiently 
upon the Lord.” 

“What became of your grandmother, after that 
terrible night ?” 

“She was wonderfully preserved, my dear — 
almost buried under several murdered bodies, her 
husband’s being one. She was taken up as dead, 
but having on the Catholic badge, was conveyed 
to a place of safety only to awake to misery, for 
not only her husband, but two sons were among 
the victims.” 

Antoinette sat with a solemn look upon her 
young face, as she said, 

“ How do you account for such dreadful wick- 
edness, grandma ?” 

“ Satan, the archangel fallen, has ever been the 
enemy of Christ, and since he tempted Eve in the 


THE ORANGE GROVE. 


133 


garden of Eden has plotted against the reign of 
God on earth ; he is the instigator of cruelty and 
intolerance, and in the apostate Church of Rome 
wars against the spiritual religion of the Lord 
Jesus Christ.” 

“ Strange that he has such power, grandma !” 

“ It will not be for ever, Antoinette, for his 
days are numbered, and with his myriads of 
fallen spirits he is destined to be cast into the pit, 
where he will be chained for a thousand years, 
having no power to torment the flock of Christ 
until the thousand years are ended ; and then it 
will be for a very short season that he will have 
power again — just before the blessed consumma- 
tion of the everlasting kingdom.” 

‘‘Thank you, dear grandma, for this hour,” 
said Guillaume ; “ you make us feel that there is 
something real in the holy faith, when so many 
have been found willing to give up their lives 
rather than deny their Lord.” 

“May it dwell in your hearts, my precious 
children,” responded the aged lady, “and then 
come what may, we shall be safe ” 

12 



CHAPTER X. 

AMONG THE LIONS. 

HE time is fixed at length for the visit to 
the capital, and on the morning of their 
departure the travelers call at St. Omars 
to bid farewell. 

“ I wish that you were going with us/^ said 
Antoinette to her cousins. 

Such pleasures can never be ours/’ replied 
Henri, while Father Sebastian reigns supreme.” 

“ You will write, Henri ?” said the young girl. 

“ Yes, if I can get a letter to you ; but this fox 
keeps a sharp lookout at St. Omars.” 

They were not aware that the wily priest was 
within hearing, for, concealed behind the curtains 
at the parlor window, he could hear much that 
was said. It was with feelings of peculiar satis- 
faction that he saw the carriage drive off, for it 
was to his intrigues that the family at the chateau 
owed this visit to the metropolis. 

134 



















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The Persecuted amid the Ruins. 


Old Chateau 


Page 136 








AMONG THE LIONS. 


135 


Traveling through a lovely country to the 
first post-town, it was all new and charming to 
the young De Lunevilles, until they reached a 
village desolated by the outrages of the Catholic 
mob. 

Look, mamma !” said Antoinette ; are these 
the marks of the persecutors 

‘‘ It can be nothing else, my child.” 

Just before them lay the ruins of a once peace- 
ful village : the houses were burned, the fields and 
gardens desolated ; half a dozen wretched-looking 
children sat by the roadside in rags and famish- 
ing with hunger. A pretty church, once shaded 
by green trees, was one of the most touching 
features of the scene, for amid its ruins sat a 
company of sad, pale women, with their infants 
in their arms. 

The count stopped his carriage. 

Have you no homes, my poor friends ?” in- 
quired his kind voice. 

Xone but these sacred ruins,” replied one of 
the women. Some of our husbands were mur- 
dered, our homes are destroyed and we are home- 
less and penniless.” * 

‘‘How do you subsist?” inquired the count. 

“A few cows are left, and we get chestnuts 


136 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


from the woods, which we boil and make food for 
our children/’ 

Where do you sleep, my friend ?” 

“ Here, under the sky of heaven, with the eye 
of our kind Father looking down upon us.” 

Could you not have been spared all this suf- 
fering ?” 

“Yes, if we had abjured our religion, but that 
we can never do ; we are willing to suffer for the 
sake of our dear Lord.” 

“ Do you not regret your firmness ?” 

“Never, sir! We have many peaceful hours 
in these ruins, for it was once God’s house, and 
he comes among us yet, by his blessed Spirit, to 
comfort us.” 

“Can you purchase anything around here?” 
inquired the count. 

“ Oh yes ; there is a hamlet about five miles 
off, where we can find stores.” 

“ Here, then, is a sum of money — I wish it 
were more — divide it among the sufferers, and 
when we return from Paris we will seek you out. 
But tell us your name.” 

“ Perrine Dumas,” was the reply. “ Two of 
the men that are left have gone to the woods to 
see if they can get logs enough to build some huts 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


137 


for us, but we shall be near here. God bless 
you, sir I” continued the woman ; this is a gen- 
erous gift. God must have sent you, for we have 
prayed for help every day. God be thanked that 
even among our enemies there are some who feel 
for us in our misery, for in that chateau, over 
on the hill there, lives one of our best friends, 
Madame Giraud, who is a Roman Catholic 

Amid the blessings of the afflicted people the 
carriage again drove off, and in half an hour was 
at the town where they were to take the post- 
coach. Part of their way lay through a hilly 
country, and the young folks were surprised to 
find how much cooler was the atmosphere than 
in their own dear Languedoc. After a journey 
long to them, we find them entering Paris, filled 
with wonder at the magnificence of the buildings, 
but most of all at the vast size of France’s great 
city. Taking lodgings at a hotel, their first in- 
quiry ‘was with reference to the object of their 
visit. Guillaume and Antoinette were to see the 
wonders of the great metropolis, and the count to 
mingle wdth the court sufficiently to ascertain the 
temper of the government toward the Huguenots. 
Count de Luneville was a man respected among 
the nobility of France, and his own personal 


138 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


friends songlit an early opportunity to welcome 
him to Paris. 

The Count de Beauvilliers was one of the first 
to call. 

‘^This is a pleasant meeting, indeed, Gustave,” 
said his friend, grasping his hand. “I have 
scarcely seen you since college-days, yet I should 
have known you anywhere.” 

Great changes have taken place since then, 
Henri, but the most painful among some of the 
former friends of the Reformed faith.” 

You can have no idea, Gustave, what pressure 
is brought to bear upon us in the atmosphere of 
the court ; I held out a long time, but I found 
at last that I must forfeit comfort, wealth and 
place by adherence to the proscribed faith.” 

“And so you bartered fidelity to your Master 
for the paltry things of this world that are pass- 
ing away ?” 

Henri de Beauvilliers could not endure the look 
of sadness that passed over his friend’s face as he 
uttered these words. Dropping his eyes, he replied, 

“ I never belonged to the more spiritual portion 
of the Huguenots. Mine was a political faith, 
easily changed according to circumstances. ” 

“ How fares it with our people now, Henri ?” 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


139 


But little countenance is shown them at court. 
Madame de Maintenon is every day obtaining 
more influence. I see nothing for them but sub- 
mission to the powers that be, or ruin, destruc- 
tion, perhaps a cruel death at last. But you must 
see for yourself, Gustave. A number of the Hu- 
guenot nobles have abjured their religion, and 
court favors are lavished upon them. Do you 
wish to be presented 

That is my desire on the next public day.’’ 

It is reception-day at the Louvre. Accom- 
panied by the Count de Beauvilliers, the De 
Luneville family seek the presence of the king. 
Seldom do strangers excite so much attention. 
The calm dignity of the parents, the remarkable 
beauty of Antoinette and the manly bearing of 
Guillaume, all bespoke a gracious hearing. The 
young girl wore but one ornament, which her 
grandmother had placed in her hand on the even- 
ing before her journey, saying, “ Wear it, my 
darling, for doubtless it will be yours.” 

AVhispers passed around among that courtly 
crowd. 

Who are they ?” whispered a French marquis. 

A Huguenot noble and his family,” replied his 
lady. The countess is an elegant woman, but 


140 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


look at the daughter ! There is no such beauty 
here, nor any so becomingly dressed ; and yet 
that young girl has upon her no ornament but 
that superb amethyst necklace; it is certainly 
an antique.’’ 

old heirloom, I dare say,” replied the 
marquis. 

Let us glance a moment at the- magnificent 
apartment, where blue and gold Gobelin tapestry, 
superb mirrors, gorgeous carpets and curtains 
meet the eye at every point. Seated on his richly- 
gilt throne is the man -who is styled the Grand 
Monarch. 

Powdered and perfumed, tinseled and glitter- 
ing with diamonds, in a suit of purple velvet, we 
are in the presence of Louis XIV. The vo- 
luptuous mouth, the dreamy eyes and swollen 
cheeks mark the sensualist, while the haughty 
chin seems to be the very incarnation of pride and 
self-conceit. 

The confessor, Pere la Chaise, Louvois, the 
court minister, and Madame de Maintenon, the 
usurper of the queen’s seat by the monarch’s 
side — all are present. 

After the ceremony of introduction, Antoinette’s 
youthful beauty attracted the admiration of the 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


141 


king, who in tones of condescension bade her ap- 
proach. 

With a modest, self-collected manner the young 
girl drew near the throne, bending the knee, when 
the king, with an air supremely impressive, ex- 
tended his jeweled hand for her to kiss. In her 
sweet simplicity she touched the hand, and when 
reminded of what was custom, rising with dignity, 
* replied, 

1 only kiss my father’s hand ; the king, I 
trust, will pardon me.” 

There was such a naive and innocent look of 
truth and purity in the sweet young face, so rare 
in this vicious court, that although the Grand 
Monarch was somewhat disposed to be offended, 
her beauty disarmed his anger. Taking the del- 
icate hand, he placed a valuable ring upon the 
finger, as he said, 

‘‘ We should soon cure mademoiselle of these 
rustic notions if we had her at the Louvre.” 

Fere la Chaise, Louvois and others sought the 
count, who listened courteously to their flattering 
speeches with a deeply serious face and thoughtful 
brow. No look of pleasure brightened the ex- 
pressive countenance. 

Madame de Maintenon summoned the countess 


142 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


to her side, who barely tolerated her attentions, 
while she thought of the heart-broken queen 
secluded in private apartments in the palace. 

One of the ladies of the court entertained An- 
toinette with accounts of its splendor, and the 
Count de Beauvilliers took charge of Guillaume. 

The count had not been favorably impressed 
by this interview, but urged by De Beauvilliers 
sought and obtained a private audience of the king. ^ 

Ushered into his presence by valets in attend- 
ance upon the ante-chamber, the count was di- 
rected to take a seat. 

“The Count de Luneville is a stranger at 
court,’’ said the king. 

“The quiet of a country-life in Languedoc 
suits me better, sire.” 

“ It would seem that the great talents of the 
Count de Luneville ought to be employed in the 
service of his country.” 

The count smiled as he replied, 

“ That is what I am endeavoring to do in a 
very unobtrusive manner.” 

The king sneered as he replied, 

“ We do not understand.” 

“I am educating my children and seeking the 
good of the peoj)le around the chateau.” 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


143 


^^And .ill what manner, pray? And who is 
their tutor? Are they taught loyalty to the king 
and the Churc*h ?” 

Pastor la Roche — an excellent man — is their 
instructor, sire.’^ 

The king frowned as he said, 

“ Do not name a heretic in our presence. Yet 
we wonder how the Count de Luneville can bury 
his children in that old chateau, when they might 
shine at court as stars of the first magnitude. 
Your daughter is possessed of rare beauty, and 
the countess is a lady of dignified presence. They 
might be leaders at court.’^ 

We have no desire for the excitement of 
court life; the quiet benevolence of country life 
suits us betteiC^ 

Is there nothing that can tempt the Count de 
Luneville from his seclusion?’’ still pressed the 
king. 

Certainly nothing, sire, that a court can 
offer.” 

“ Your position as a Huguenot noble is by no 
means a secure one. None can tell how soon 
Languedoc may have to be subdued. Should you 
accept position at the Louvre, high honors would 
be yours, for Louvois often wants an adviser of ‘ 


144 


THE OLD C HATE AIT. 


wisdom. Wealth, rank, splendid marriages for 
yonr children — your noble and elegant countess 
the star of the court! Are not these induce- 
ments?” 

The count smiled sadly : 

‘‘And with all this the shipwreck of my con- 
science, the abandonment of my faith. Let me 
live, sire, in my ancestral home, surrounded by 
my family and my people, where I shall be a 
faithful subject of the king.” 

The king frowned and bit his lip. 

“You know not what you choose. Count de 
Luneville, nor the danger of contradicting your 
monarch’s will. There are De Beauvilliers, Du 
Moulin, Clermont and Lavardin, all of whom 
occupy high posts of honor at court, and why not 
you ? We are amazed at your folly !” 

“ I cannot barter my conscience, sire, for any 
earthly good.” 

“You are an obstinate heretic, Gustave de 
Luneville,” said the king, with passion, “ sacri- 
ficing your whole family by your madness. But 
when the day comes remember that we have 
stooped to warn you I” 

The king motioned to the count to leave the 
room, and then in a rage sought the priest. 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


145 


He is not to be bought,’’ said the king. The 
most hardened fool that I have ever met.” 

‘^Try the (3ountess,” said La Chaise; women 
are easily won by flattery;” and in a few minutes 
we find the artful priest by the side of the count. 

‘‘The Count de Luneville will find himself an 
object of envy,” said the confessor, “for it is quite 
an unusual thing for the king to stoop from his 
dignity to converse with a subject. He must re- 
gard you with more than common interest.” 

“ I am not flattered by the notice, father, for 
the king proposed what no true Christian would 
consent to.” 

“ This is bold speech. Count de Luneville, in 
the halls of the Louvre; all is not gold that 
glitters here, as you may possibly find to your 
sorrow.” 

“ Faith, honor, loyalty to God are dearer than 
the smiles of kings, father ; I have weighed them 
long since.” 

Just then the court minister, Louvois, ap- 
proached with a cunning smile and an oily 
tongue. 

“We are to have the Count de Luneville 
among us, I perceive,” said the minister. 

“ Who said so ?” was the quick reply. 

13 K 


146 


THE OED CHATEAU. 


must be so, for none would dare dispute 
the will of the monarch when he condescends to 
sue to one of his subjects. You will enjoy life 
here, in the midst of wealth and honor, basking in 
the smiles of the fairest ladies of France.’’ 

The count glanced around for one moment at 
the painted faces, bold manners and immodest 
dress of the court beauties, and inwardly shrank 
from the degradation of having such associates for 
his wife and daughter. 

These things do not attract me,” was the calm 
reply ; there are weighty reasons to detain me 
in Languedoc. I do not covet the position of 
courtier at the Louvre.” 

The Count de Luneville is a bold man. The 
king will not always tolerate heresy in his do- 
minions, and should those days come, monsieur 
will remember that he has been warned.” 

“ No harm can come to me without the permis- 
mission of my Father, Count de Louvois.” 

“You have seen the Huguenot nobles who 
have been wiser than you, but you have not seen 
those who have openly refused obedience to the 
king; monasteries accommodate some — the galleys 
may be the final destiny of others.” 

“ You know not the spirit of the man whom 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


147 


you thus address. I have measured time and 
eternity, and it seems to me to matter but little 
what man ordains, while the righteous God rules 
in heaven.’^ 

We will turn a moment to Madame de Main- 
tenon, who is conversing with the countess. 

“ There is a bright future offered to you, mad- 
ame,^’ said the artful woman — a place at court, 
high rank, the favor of the king and a life of 
splendor for your beautiful daughter, for there are 
none here that can compare with Mademoiselle de 
Luneville.’^ 

My darling Antoinette a member of the court 
of France ! Nothing could tempt me to place her 
in a scene of such danger. She is pure and love- 
ly now,’^ but glancing around at the half-clad la- 
dies of the court, she continued, may Heaven 
preserve her from such a life as this !” 

“You are too severe, madame,’’ was the reply; 
“ the days of youth should be gay, and the senses 
should be gratified while tliey are fresh.” 

“ Antoinette is very happy in Languedoc, 
among the members of her family, with her stud- 
ies, her birds, her flowers and her duties to the 
people around us.” 

“ And so you prefer for her the vulgar life of a 


148 


T]IE OLD CHItEAU. 


country maiden to the most brilliant career that 
can be offered to her acceptanec ?’’ 

“I do, Madame de Maintenon, if with it come 
the sacrifice of conscience, the abjuration of our 
holy faith, the loss of peace of mind and the hope 
of heaven/^ 

‘‘ Strange infatuation ! where do you learn such 
folly 

“ Let me tell you, madame. There was one in 
ancient times of whom it is said in the blessed 
Bible, ^Choosing rather to suffer affliction with 
the people of God than to enjoy the pleasures of 
sin for a season/ By faith he forsook Egypt, not 
fearing the wrath of the king; for he endured as 
seeing Him who is invisible/^ 

The court favorite assumed a more stern and 
threatening aspect, and then in low tones said to 
the countess, 

“The king has vowed to exterminate heresy 
from his kingdom; the steps are planned and 
will surely be executed ; none will ^e spared in 
the day of vengeance.’’ 

“We are in the hands of God, madame; he 
will sustain us in the hour of trial.” 

“ You will think better of your decision,” she 
replied with an insinuating smile, “it cannot 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


149 


be possible that you will condemn your lovely 
daughter to such a fearful destiny 

The Rubicon has been passed. Clad in the 
shining armor of the Gospel, Count de Luneville 
Avent forth from the presence of the king a mark- 
ed man hereafter in the black book of the court 
trinity. 

But Madame de Maintenon had not given up 
the countess. Judging that lady by herself, she 
hinted to the king that a casket of jewels had 
purchased others, and might be successful here. 

Accordingly, in a day or two an invitation to 
a court ball, accompanied by a superb set of 
jewels, came directly from the king. 

What are we to do with these, Gustave?” in- 
quired the countess. 

Do you wish to attend the ball, Eugenie ?” 

“ How can you ask, Gustave ? What have we 
in common with that dissolute court? But these 
jewels — ought I to accept them?” 

^‘Not if the acceptance should compromise 
your integrity, and I much incline to think that 
such would be the case.” 

Then I must return them ; but how ?” 

Your own good sense and right feeling will 
direct you.” 


150 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


With the jewels went a respectful but decided 
note. 

The Grand Monarch read the calm rejection of 
his gift with feelings of bitter resentment and 
surprise. 

Read that/^ said he, tossing the note to Lou- 
vois. Presumptuous, indeed ! but she may have 
cause to regret this impertinence. She writes with 
the freedom of an equal. Intolerable said the 
king, as he paced the room chafing with rage. 

More than that, sire,’’ said Louvois ; there 
is even an air of superiority in this remarkable 
note.” 

‘‘We have grievously offended the king,” said 
the count, as he despatched the casket to the 
Louvre; “ henceforth. we have nothing to expect 
but open displeasure.” 

Shadows rested upon the spirits of the two, for 
only on that day had De Beauvilliers been telling 
them of the fate of some of their former friends : 

“Replier has disappeared. Salignac has not 
been seen nor heard from for several years. It is 
generally believed that both are among the vic- 
tims at the galleys. Madame de Salignac is gen- 
erally supposed to be in one of the convents in a 
distant part of France; and this is the fate of the 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


151 


faithful. It may be worse soon, for there are 
terrible rumors at court.” 

Count Rumford had called to see the family 
on that same day, and, observing his friend’s de- 
pression, invited him to accompany him to the 
place where the Huguenots worshipped in secret 
— always at night, for fear of detection. 

Entering a carriage, they rode to the suburbs 
of Paris, where, in a large room underground, 
the persecuted flock met every Sunday night. 

One by one, quietly and solemnly, the congre- 
gation assembled, and here the count recognized 
several of his old friends. 

It was a saintly man that presided in the pulpit of 
the Reformers, and sweet and holy were the words 
of comfort that fell from his lips, for he seemed 
to realize that he held his life in his hands, ready 
at any moment to resign it for his Master’s sake. 

It was with feelings of deep and heartfelt de- 
votion that the De Lunevilles joined their breth- 
ren in singing the words of the psalm : 

“God is our refuge in distress, 

A present help when dangers press; 

In him undaunted we’ll confide, 

Though earth were from her centre tost. 

And mountains in the ocean lost, 

Torn piecemeal from the roaring tide. 


152 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


“A gentler stream with gladness still 
The city of our Lord shall fill, 

The royal seat of God most high : 

God dwells in Zion, whose fair towers 
Shall mock the assaults of earthly powers, 

While his almighty aid is nigh.” 

For a while the count forgot the cares and 
sorrows of this mortal life, and in this sweet com- 
munion of saints among those whom he had never 
seen before, many of whose faces he should see no 
more on this side of eternity, he realized the 
blessedness of Christian brotherhood. 

“Angels and living saints and dead 
But one communion make: 

All join in Christ, their vital Head, 

And of his love partake.” 

After the sojourn of a few weeks, much to 
their surprise. Father Sebastian appeared at 
court. The family of the count felt that his 
presence augured no good to the cause of the 
Huguenots. 

He carefully avoided the He Lnnevilles, and 
the next day after his arrival a long conference 
was held at the Louvre between the priest 
of St, Omars and the king’s confessor, which 
indicated naught but evil to them. Another page 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


153 


in the history of these two men was plotted on 
that occasion, wliich was to be fulfilled at some 
convenient season. 

The visit to Paris was at an end. The stratagem 
that brought them thither had borne its fruit. 
The family now prepared to return to the chateau, 
conscious that a wider gulf than ever yawned be- 
tween the government of the Grand Monarch and 
the persecuted Huguenots. 

It had been a pleasant visit to the younger 
members of the party, for the parents had not 
communicated their fears to them, lest they 
should mar their happiness. 

They had not forgotten tlie desolate families 
seen amid the ruins of the Huguenot church, for 
the^ count had gathered from his friends some re- 
lief for their poverty. 

On reaching the village they left the post-road, 
and here waited for their carriage. A few rude 
huts had been reared, and seated at the door of 
one was Perrine Dumas. 

You remember us, my good friend said the 
count. 

‘‘Yes, indeed,’’ was the grateful reply; “for 
your goodness provided us with comforts for 
several weeks ; and since then our husbands have 


154 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


built these little huts, and here we are sheltered 
from the night winds and the rain.^’ 

The ladies stepped out and opened their treas- 
ures, having purchased a quantity of comfortable 
materials for clothing, and the count had quite 
a well-filled purse to divide among the poor 
people. 

^‘God bless you!'’ said the simple peasants; 
“this will make us very happy. Pastor le Brun 
comes once in two weeks now, and preaches to us 
in the ruins of our old church ; and we know that 
God is with us.” 

“Shall we have a word of prayer before we 
part ?” said the count, and giving out the lines of 
a familiar hymn, the whole company joined in the 
simple worship, and then the count committed 
them all in prayer to the covenant-keeping care 
of their common Saviour. 

They then entered the carriage, and the people 
felt as if angels had indeed tarried with them for 
a few moments on their way to the New Jeru- 
salem. 

Baptiste drove rapidly on, for he knew what 
anxious hearts were waiting at the chateau. It 
was evening when they reached their blessed home. 
Madame de Luneville was on the piazza in wait- 


AMONG THE LIONS. 


155 


ing with the two younger children, the good 
pastor and his daughter. 

It seems an age since you left us/’ said the 
aged lady. 

And so it seems to us/’ was the reply of the 
countess. We are so happy to be at home once 
more.” 

Taking the two dear children by the hand, she 
hastened into the chteau, hoping that she might 
never leave its blessed refuge any more. 

With an arm around each she had much to 
say and more to hear. 

After the bustle and worldliness and dangers 
of the metropolis, home seemed now almost like 
the land of Beulah to these heart-weary wander- 
ers from their own sweet household. 




CHAPTER XI. 

MUTTERINGS IN THE DISTANCE. 

HE dwellers at St. Omars are not happy, 
for the mother sees that Henri is un- 
usually pale and sad. 

Why are you so depressed, my son?” 
inquired the mother. 

Because I have no home, mamma,” was the 
answer. 

No home, Henri ? What can you mean ?” 

Home is a place of freedom ; mine is one of 
bondage.” 

“ It need not be so, Henri, if you would be 
what you were formerly.” 

can never be a Romanist, mamma, after 
finding what a Saviour the Bible reveals.” 

What can you mean, my son ? Have we no 
Saviour in our holy Church ?” 

Many, dear mamma ; the Virgin and the 
saints are the Saviours of the Romish Church. 

156 





MUTTERINGS IN THE DISTANCE. 157 

I can worship only one, and that the Lord Jesus 
Christ.’’ 

You will break my heart, Henri, should you 
renounce the faith of the true Church.” 

“ That is my trouble, dear mother, for I can- 
not bear to give you pain. But every day I find 
myself farther and farther from the Church of 
Rome, nearer and nearer to the Reformed faith — 
drawn by a mysterious power that I dare not 
resist.” 

Deeper and deeper strike the roots of the 
spiritual life at the chateau, for the visit to Paris 
has left its visions of future trial, loss and suffer- 
ing to haunt the secluded hours of the count and 
countess, and hiding themselves day by day in 
the clefts of the Rock, they realize the security 
of that blessed shelter. 

Amid the sweet fragrance of the orange grove, 
Antoinette and Guillaume entertained the chil- 
dren with accounts of the wonders of Paris. 

And you really saw the king ?” said Natalie ; 
were not you afraid of him ?” 

Antoinette smiled as she replied, 

‘^Afraid of what, my little sister?” 

“ Of doing something in the grand court that 
was not just right.” 

14 


158 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


I knew how I should behave in tlie presence 
of those older than myself and higher in rank, 
and I tried to act as I would before ray father’s 
visitors.” 

‘^Did you kiss the king’s hand?” said little 
Clarice. 

Not I, my dear ; that is kept for papa, and 
for him only.” 

Was not the king offended when you refused, 
Antoinette?” inquired Natalie. 

I think he was a little, at first, but he seemed 
rather pleased afterward ; I suppose because it is 
so seldom that any one ventures to contradict his 
majesty. See here, what he placed upon my 
finger,” she said, displaying the beautiful ring. 

Had any one of the court ladies such a grand 
necklace as yours, sister?” inquired innocent little 
Clarice. 

Antoinette was highly amused, and replied, 

‘‘Why, my darling little simpleton, sister’s 
necklace was a mere bauble compared to the 
superb diamonds glittering upon the court 
ladies.” 

Turning to Magdalen, she continued : 

“ I did not like the way that the king looked 
at papa, for just as we passed out I turned to 


MUTTERIXGS IN THE DISTANCE. 


159 


glance once more at the group around the king, 
and the priest, tlie minister and Madame de 
Maintenon were all talking in an angry, excited 
manner, glancing toward the door.’^ 

It is a terrible thing for any one to offend the 
king of France, Antoinette, with all his power to 
injure.’’ 

^‘A^es, mademoiselle, I know that, but God 
reigns, and not a hair of our head falls without 
his knowledge.” 

Who is that?” exclaimed Guillaume, looking 
toward the gate of the chateau, for a carriage had 
just driven up to the entrance. In another mo- 
ment a gentleman stepped out, and Antoinette 
recognized her father’s friend. Count Rumford. 

The first salutation was one of pleasure, but it 
was soon manifest that their visitor came Avith a 
heart laden down with some heavy burden. 

Taking an early opportunity to be alone with 
the count, he said, 

I came for consultation, Gustave ; the clouds 
are gathering thick around our people, the at- 
mosphere of the court is full of explosive matter, 
and we know not at what moment the storm may 
burst upon us with all its fury.” 

“ These are days that make men’s hearts to 


160 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


quake within them, my friend ; but our trust is 
in God, for our cause is just.’^ 

“ Daily, under the pressure of severe edicts and 
flattering offers, new cases of apostasy occur — 
some from fear, some from avarice. Such recreant 
Huguenots are exempt from taxation and from 
paying debts. Sad to say, my son Louis lias been 
tampered with by a priest, who teaches in the 
school to which he belongs. They have enticed 
him from me, and being released by law from 
parental authority, though he is but fourteen, I 
have no redress. Such cases are frequent now, 
Gustave.” 

Can such iniquity prosper in the end ? Never, 
while there is a just God in heaven !” 

“ The fate of those who remain faithful is pit- 
iable indeed ; our colleges are closed, our youth 
are barred from every avenue to posts of profit 
and honor, our churches are interdicted, our in- 
heritances wrested from us by fraud. Even the 
dying are tormented in their last hours,. and the 
dead are not allowed to rest in their an'cestral 
sepulchres. Only last week my beloved sister, 
Madame Latour, departed this life, broken down 
by grief and hardships ; we were stopped on our 
road to the interment ; a guard of dragoons tore 


MUTTEP.INGS IN THE DISTANCE 161 

the coffin from the hearse, and pitching it on the 
ground, forbade farther action : we Avere obliged 
to leave it in their hands and return to our home. 
At midnight Ave sought the place again; the 
Avretches had departed, leaving the coffin partly 
open by the rude manner in which it had been 
thrown upon the ground. We closed it as Avell 
as Ave could, and a small company conveyed it to 
the woods, Avhere in that dreary hour we com- 
mitted the dear remains to the dust,’^ 

These are horrors indeed replied the count. 

We cannot always remain in this afflicted land, 
but whither shall Ave turn our footsteps? Let 
us pray for guidance, for Ave are truly pilgrims in 
an enemy’s country.” 

Count Rumford was introduced to those in the 
family circle whom he had never seen. Laying 
his hand upon Natalie’s head, he remarked. 

This one must be just the age of Florette, but 
we dare not alloAV her out of our sight, we are so 
afraid of losing her; for it is a common thing to 
steal aAvay our children and place them in Cath- 
olic schools.” 

Little Clarice raoA^ed softly round to his side, 
and looking up in his face, said, 

Who steals away little girls ?” 

14 ^ L 


162 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The priests, my clear ; and then we don’t 
know that we shall ever see them again, for there 
is no law for us. I have lost a son in this way 
and two sweet nieces, the children of my depart- 
ed sister.” 

I’ll never go near a priest, then,” said the child ; 
“ only Father Paul ; I am sure that he is good.” 

The count smiled, saying, 

‘‘ Father Paul is no Jesuit, and has none of the 
persecuting spirit of his Church. I don’t know 
how the good man remains a priest at all.” 

Ere retiring, the visitor passed a grateful hour 
of evening devotion in the chapel ; the solemn 
music, the short, comforting exhortation to fidel- 
ity and trust, the fervent prayer, seemed to Count 
Ilumford almost like the gate of heaven, it had 
been so long since he had enjoyed the quiet of an 
hour of undisturbed communion with his fellow- 
Christians. 

I fear that these precious seasons are number- 
ed, Gustave,” said his guest, for the interdict 
is traveling, and will reach our fair Languedoc 
ere long.” 

“What is to be done, Hubert? We cannot 
bring up our families in such a distracted 
country.” 


MUTTERINGS IN THE DISTANCE. 


163 


There seems to be nothing but exile, for 
God’s dear children have many battles to fight. 
Self-interest and temptations, invented by the evil 
one, make life an intolerable burden.” 

But, Hubert, you find that the true children 
of God cling to their holy faith, in spite of all 
their trials.” 

‘‘AYe have powerful enemies, Gustave, in the 
men who rule the councils of the state, and the most 
dangerous are the Jesuits, who are created to ex- 
tirpate heresy, sworn foes to the Huguenots.” 

“ Yes, that is true ; these monks, who are the 
confessors of kings and nobles, feel justified in re- 
sorting to any means to accomplish their ends.” 

They are monsters of iniquity, Gustave ; 
advocating without shame, falsehood, trickery, 
injustice, traffic in consciences, brute force, spoli- 
ations, banishment, nay murder — all are good in 
their eyes.’^ 

“ I fear, Hubert, that under these Jesuits 
France is marching on from one tyranny to 
another, and that we shall finally be obliged to 
seek another home. But come, let me show you 
some of our hiding-places in case of a visitation 
from our persecutors.” 

Leading his friend out into the garden, the 


164 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


count conducted him through the subterranean 
passage into the underground chamber. 

“This is indeed a sure shelter, Gustave; here 
are cots for weary sufferers, and none could de- 
tect this hiding-place.” 

“We have a turret also,” said the count, “and 
a secret room behind the chapel, if we only have 
time to seek their shelter in the hour of need.” 

“ These are terrible days, Gustave, when a man 
is not safe in his own home, and must be hunted 
to death for conscience^ sake.” 

“ We have glorious fellowship, Hubert, with 
those of olden times, who had trial of cruel mock- 
ing and scourgings, yea, moreover, of bonds and 
imprisonment ; of whom the world was not 
worthy; they wandered in deserts and mount- 
ains, and in dens and caves of the earth. We are 
in the midst of their memorials now.” 

They were walking in the gallery of family 
portraits. 

“ This is one of our hallowed spots, Hubert, 
for many of these suffered martyrdom in the days 
of the Vaudois persecution.” 

“Whose is that saintly face?” inquired the 
guest. 

“ That is the Lady Antoinette, after whom my 


MUTTERINGS IN THE DISTANCE. 165 


own Antoinette is named ; hers was a painful 
history indeed ; heroic, devoted, heavenly-minded, 
she yielded up her life for the love of her blessed 
Lord.’^ 

Amid these shadows of past centuries the two 
friends passed a sacred hour of fellowship with 
the spirits of these martyred saints, deeply sol- 
emnized by these memories, and more than ever 
imbued with their fortitude. 

I have serious thoughts of leaving the 
troubled atmosphere of Paris,^’ said Count Rum- 
ford, ‘^and taking my family into some more 
secluded locality.’’ 

Why not come among us, Hubert? There is 
an unoccupied cottage near the chateau, where 
you might be' comfortable, if your family is not 
too large.” 

‘‘We are only five ; my wife, myself, two 
daughters and a servant; we should be most 
happy to take up our abode in this lovely Lan- 
guedoc. Let us go and look at this little home.” 

It was a neat dwelling, with its front piazza 
and pretty garden, and to one who had been 
tossed upon the troubled sea of the metropolis 
seemed almost like a Paradise. 

“ This a shelter, indeed,” said the count, as he 


166 THE OLD CHATEAU. 

walked through the neat, comfortable rooms. 
‘‘ Josephine will be charmed with such a refuge.’’ 

There is field adjoining, where you can keep 
your own cow, and a small poultry yard ; you 
can raise your own chickens ; fruit flourishes here 
with the slightest culture, and so long as the po- 
litical storms do not reach us we can call this the 
Happy Valley. Here too, you can have the ben- 
efit of education for your children, for they can 
join our family school under Mademoiselle la 
Roche.” 

If I could only get Louis from the hands of 
the priests, and bring him with us, I should be 
too happy.” 

“ How long has he been away from you, 
Hubert?” 

About six months ; but I hope by this time 
that he is weary of his new friends.” 

The two returned to the family circle. Count 
Rumford wore a bright and happy face. 

Come here, Clarice,” said he, taking the child 
upon his lap ; do you know that I am going to 
bring you a little playmate just about as old as 
you ? She has black eyes and curly hair, and just 
as merry as you, Clarice, and her name is 
Louise.” 


MUTTERINGS IN THE DISTANCE. 167 

Is she coming here to live asked the child. 

Yes ; we are going to take the cottage on the 
way to the hamlet, and I am going to bring a 
playmate for Natalie too ; her name is Florette ; 
and they are both coming to school at the 
chateau.” 

Is not that grand, Natalie said the child, 
her black eyes sparkling with delight ; they 
shall have a pair of pigeons and a pair of rabbits ; 
and they’ll come over every Saturday and play 
with our dolls, and good, old Nannette will make 
some cakes for them when she bakes ours.” 

“ You’ll have a happy time, my pet, I hope,” 
replied the father, a slight shade passing over his 
face as he thought of the future. 

Together the friends explored on horseback 
the lovely country, over hill and dale, almost 
with the joyous freedom of boyhood. 

“ It will be pleasant to Eugenie to have a com- 
panion,” said the count, ‘^for our circle is very 
small, and those whom we do visit are too distant 
to admit of intimacy; but she is very busy, for, 
with her family and the peasantry, she is an im- 
portant personage at the Chateau de Luneville.” 

If it were not for the present state of our 
country, what happy days we might lead here, 


168 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Gustave ! I always liked a rural life ; and v/ith 
my little place to take care of, and Josephine with 
her children, her poultry and her flowers, it does 
seem like a picture of perfect contentment.” 

This is not our rest, Hubert ; dwelling as we 
do among the enemies of spiritual religion, we 
must look for trial and discipline: our perfect 
rest is there, my friend.” 

“ If we should finally be obliged to leave our 
country, what land would you prefer, Gustave?” 

England, before all others ! I have already 
some funds invested there, for I doubt not that 
we shall be exiles at last.” 

Returning from their ride, they met Baptiste 
at the gate, who wore a very serious face. 

“ There is bad news from my sister,” said the 
man, wiping a tear from his eye. ‘‘She lived 
about a hundred miles from here, in one of our 
pleasant villages, but the dragoons found them 
out, and after destroying their church, laid waste 
their homes and murdered my sister and her hus- 
band, because they would not abjure their faith. 
Her son is in the kitchen now, having been seven 
days reaching here.” 

“These are dreadful days, Baptiste,” replied 
the count; “who knows how soon they may 


MUTTEKINGS IN THE DISTANCE. 169 


reach us? Give the boy food and lodging; we 
can find employment for him as soon as Count 
Rumford brings his family down, for he will 
want a boy to help him in the garden. Send him 
in, Baptiste.’^ 

Pitiable was the sight of the pale and wretched 
orphan boy, as he stood before the kind master of 
the chateau, always ready to succor the oppressed. 
- Laying his hand upon his head, he said, * 

We are truly sorry for you, Martin, but you 
will' find friends here, my poor boy. God only 
can comfort you in sorrows like yours; I hope 
that you know the compassion of a sympathizing 
Saviour 

The boy bowed his head and wept as he replied, 
I love my parents^ Saviour, and hope he is 
mine too.’^ 

^^You can stay, with Baptiste, Martin, until 
Count Rumford comes down with his family; he 
will want a boy then.’^ 

‘‘You are very good. Monsieur le Comte, for I 
have no home in this wide world now.” 

One more precious Lord’s-day service at the 
chapel, and the visitor took his leave, promising 
to bring down his little girls as soon as possible. 

The little girls at the chateau, in the mean 


170 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


while, were busy in preparing for their expected 
playmates. 

In a short time the family took possession of 
the cottage, bringing Louis with them. 

“'How did you get your son, Hubert?” in- 
quired the count. 

“Ask Louis, himself,” was the reply. 

“ I got tired of the priests. They made prom- 
ises that they never kept, and as soon as they 
thought that I was fixed among them changed 
their treatment, and I learned that my father was 
my best friend, although they tried to make me 
believe that it was not so.” 

“ You did a very wicked thing, Louis, in for- 
saking your parents for such false guides,” said 
the count. 

“ I know that, Count de Luneville, and trust 
that my conduct will show that I am truly a 
penitent prodigal.” 

“How did you manage to escape, Louis?” 

“ Feeling secure, they did not guard me very 
strictly, and it was comparatively easy to scale 
the wall at midnight. I shall never desire to 
wander from such a sweet home as this, I am 
sure.” 




CHAPTER XII. 

THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 

I iirTIE daily service at the chapel grows more 
|[ and more precious, as its privileges seem 
to hang upon such an uncertain tenure. 
Each day brings tidings of outbreaks in 
new localities, and as the worshipers sing the 
sweet words of the closing hymn, itself a benedic- 
tion, their hearts fear that each evening hymn 
may be the last in the sacred chapel. The good- 
night blessing, too, is increasingly tender as the 
parents dismiss their children to their rest, for 
who knows how rudely their rest may be dis- 
turbed ere the morning dawn ? 

It is Sunday evening again ; the good pastor 
has words of peculiar wisdom and power on this 
occasion, bidding his hearers put on the whole 
armor of God,^^ for their foes are wily, treach- 
erous and powerful — exhorting to firmness, fidel- 
ity and constancy, even unto death. 


171 


172 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Seated in the back part of tlie chapel, in the 
dross of a wood-cntter, was a hearer who attract- 
ed much attention ; evidently seeking conceal- 
ment, for he wore a slouched hat and kept his face 
covered by a short cloak drawn over his features. 
He did not join in the services, taking part neither 
in singing nor prayer. Going out before the rest, 
he mysterious visitor disappeared. 

That was no wood-cutter,’’ remarked Guil- 
laume (who sat near the man), for they do not 
wear the hair shaved close, as that was beneath 
that slouched hat ; as he passed out the cloak 
fell a moment, and I had a glimpse of the smooth, 
pale face and the short-cropped hair that we see 
nowhere but on a priest, and then the measured, 
cat-like step was none other than Father Se- 
bastian’s.” 

The good pastor was alarmed, for he remem- 
bered the strong and faithful words that he had 
uttered in the hearing of the spy, and now he was 
convinced that one had been among them. 

If that was a priest,” said the pastor, sadly, 
this is the last of our Sunday services, for there 
was enough said to place us under an interdict, I 
fear ; but God reigns, my children, and is not 
confined to temples or chapels. There is always 


THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 173 

a sanctuary for the believing soul, for our Father 
has said that ^ I dwell in the high and holy 
l)lace, with him also that is of a contrite and 
humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, 
and to revive the heart of the contrite ones.’ ” 

“ I knew that it was a spy,” said Count Rum- 
ford, ^Hhe moment that I saw him; we must 
prepare for trouble.” 

There is a new occupant at one of the cot- 
tages,” said Baptiste — a tall, slender woman, 
living quite alone, and not associating with any 
of the neighbors ; no one seems to know who she 
is, or whence she came.” 

I suppose that it is the person ^Vho applied 
for work last week,” said the countess. ‘^She 
called herself Marie Dennis, saying that she was 
a widow and in need of help. I observed that 
she seemed very anxious for some of our little 
books, and I gave her several. I could not dis- 
cover whether she was a Romanist or not.” 

I fear that we are surrounded by spies,” said 
the count; “ we must be careful how we confide 
in strangers. I doubt not that those little books 
are already in the hands of Father Sebastian.” 

“We have had our last Sunday service in the 
chapel,” said Count Rumford. 


174 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


His words proved true, for after three days 
orders arrived from tlie governor of the province 
suppressing Huguenot worship throughout Lan- 
guedoc, on pain of punishment, with orders for 
the Reformed to adopt the prescribed Huguenot 
dress. 

The afflicted family and their friends remained 
that evening in the chapel after service, for 
mutual conference 

What is to be done now said the troubled 
pastor. 

There is one refuge, the subterranean room,” 
said Madame de Luneville ; there we can be 
secure from disturbance, and can enjoy the Sa- 
viour’s presence as well as in our chapel. But 
ere we leave it, let us sing together one more 
sweet hymn, Magdalen.” 

Taking her seat at the organ, they sang the 
sentiments of our more modern hymn : 

“ Glorious things of thee are spoken, 

Zion, city of our God ; 

He whose word cannot be broken 
Formed thee for his own abode. 

On the Rock of Ages founded. 

What can shake thy sure repose ? 

With Salvation’s walls surrounded. 

Thou may’st smile at all thy foes.” 


THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 175 

. • Silent for a moment, they gave a farewell 
glance at the sacred room, the pastor saying, 

It has often been the gate of heaven to us in 
our weary pilgrimage; but, my children, if the 
pillar of fire go with us into our subterranean 
chapel, we shall meet our dear Lord there as well 
as here.’^ 

Let us take some of our seats to the cave,’’ 
said the count ; you had better remove as many 
as are necessary from the chapel, Baptiste. Take 
a table for the pastor, and see that there are 
lamps enough to light us.” 

Madame de Luneville, turning to the fifty- 
seventh psalm, read : 

Be merciful unto me, O God, be merciful 
unto me, for my soul trusteth in thee; yea, in 
the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge, 
until these calamities be overpast. 

“ I will cry unto God most high ; unto God 
that perforraeth all things for me. 

He shall send from heaven and save me 
from the reproach of him that would swallow 
me up. God shall send forth his mercy and 
truth. 

My soul is among lions ; and I lie even 
among them that are set on fire, even the sons of 


17G 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


men, whose teeth are spears and arrows, and their 
tongue a sharp sword.’’ 

She read these words in a deeply solemn tone 
of voice, and then added, 

^^God knows what is to be the end of all these 
sorrows, but we know that ^ Blessed are all those 
who put their trust in him,’ even though we are 
required to prove that trust by giving up our 
lives.” 

We will follow our little band to their first 
service in the cave on the following Sunday. 

Through the dark passage, lantern in hand, 
these suffering Christians took up their solemn 
line of march — the aged lady and the count, 
followed by other members of the family, poor 
little trembling Natalie and Clarice clinging to 
the brother’s and sister’s hand, all in the dress 
’ prescribed by the government. 

It seems a strange way to go to church,” said 
Clarice; ^Gvhy caii’t we worship in our pleasant 
chapel, Antoinette?” 

Because the king forbids it, Clarice. He says 
that we must pray to the Virgin Mary and the 
saints — that we must go to mass and confession, 
or else not be allowed to have any public wor- 
ship.” 


THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 177 


If he should find us out in the cave, what 
would become of -us, Antoinette 

We should be punished; but God has num- 
bered the hairs of our head, Clarice.’’ 

By this time they had reached the cave. Bap- 
tiste had gone before and lit the lamps ; he had 
also covered the cold ground with straw, for it 
was winter still, though mild. 

The family at the chateau and the Bumfords 
made quite a respectable congregation, and as 
Madame de Luneville looked around, she said, 

‘‘The blessed communion of saints, how pre- 
cious is the bond !” - 

“A sweeter fellowship is ours, dear children,” 
,said the good pastor; “doubtless some of the 
heavenly messengers are with us to-night, for it 
is said of the angels, ‘ Are they not all minister- 
ing spirits, sent forth to minister for them who 
shall be heirs of salvation ?’ ” 

Thus the good man took his place among his 
people, a singularly solemn assembly in that 
secret cave. 

“We are entering upon the days of trial,” said 
the pastor, “ when it is no longer safe for a man 
to worship in his own house ; but, if needs be, we 
must confess our Lord, even if it cost us our 
M 


178 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


lives. AV^e meet here to pray for grace according 
to our day. We know that our God is not con- 
fined to temples made with hands, but wherever 
two or three are gathered togetlier in his name, 
there is our dear Lord in the midst.’’* 

It was with deep and earnest feeling that the 
faithful few joined in singing the hymn so stir- 
ring in its call: 

“The Son of God goes forth to war, 

A kingly crown to gain ; 

His blood-red banner streams afar: 

Who follows in his train? 

“Who best can drink his cup of woe, 

And triumph over pain — 

Who patient bears his cross below. 

He follows in his train. 

“The martyr first, whose eagle eye 
Could pierce beyond the grave, * 

Who saw his Master in the sky. 

And called on him to save — 

“Like him with pardon on his tongue, 

In midst of mortal pain. 

He prayed for them that did the wrong: 

Who follows in his train ?” 

The elders of that little band uttered these 
sentiments with a depth of expression that could 


THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 179 

scarcely be described, for each felt that the fate 
there depicted raight soon be his. Even the 
children clung closer to their parents’ sides, clasp- 
ing their hands with a trembling earnestness. 

Alas that fanatical fury should not only lay 
its hand upon the peace of the domestic fireside, 
endangering the lives of heads of happy house- 
holds, but that it should even quench the joy 
of innocent childhood and pale the roses upon 
the cheek of infancy ! 

From this eventful evening a cloud fell upon 
the brightness of the family circle at the chateau, 
and the children’s private hours were often spent 
in repeating the tales that they had heard of the 
dragoons, wondering when they would come 
among their peaceful homes. 

The merriment of that charmed period of ex- 
istence was fast passing away, and even light- 
hearted little Clarice trembled at the sound of 
horses’ hoofs in her apprehensions of coming 
danger. 

The peasants, who can be trusted, have learned 
how they may find the place of worship, but are 
obliged to come only two at a time, for there is 
room for no more. It was necessary, too, to bring 
a foot-stove of hot coals, for the cave was too cold 


180 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


and damp to sit entirely without fire. Here 
marriages 'were solemnized ; here young infants 
were brought to baptism ; and here the Lord’s 
Supper was duly administered with a sanctity 
that had scarcely been felt in the days of prps- 
perity. What an earnest reality Christianity ap- 
peared in this subterranean chapel, where each 
one clung to a despised and persecuted faith at 
the risk of life! But there was a new worshiper 
to-night among the solemn assembly, for Henri 
de Grammont had discovered their secret place 
of rendezvous. 

This suits me exactly,” said he, for it is not 
possible that any one should find this safe retreat, 
so far away from the miserable World of intol- 
erance and cruelty ; it seems so near to heaven. I 
am glad that I came to-night, for I perceive that 
you are about to celebrate the liord’s Supper. I 
have openly abjured the mass; I go no more to 
confession, and I ask to be allowed to join with 
you in this commemoration of our dear Lord’s 
sufferings.” 

‘^You are welcome among us, Henri,” said 
the pastor, but what says your mother to all 
this?” 

^‘That is my great sorrow. She is over- 


THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 181 

whelmed with grief, for she imagines that out of 
the true Church there is no salvation.’^ 

‘^We think so too, my young friend,’’ replied 
the pastor with a smile, “ but our ideas of the true 
Church are very catholic. We stretch out our 
arms wide enough to embrace all who love our 
Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity and truth.” 

Like dew upon the new-mown grass, so fell the 
words of our dear Lord upon the heart of the 
young confessor : 

This is my body which is broken to you ; 
this do in remembrance of me;” and 

“ This cup is the New Testament in my blood, 
which is shed for you.” 

So different was this memorial service, with all 
its hallowed associations, from the mysterious, 
contradictory, intangible service of the E-omish 
mass that it was a blessed hour to Henri when 
he had indeed partaken of the new wine of the 
Gospel. At the close of the service he approach- 
ed the countess. 

Do come and see my mother?” said the youth ; 
she is very sick.” 

Shall I be admitted ?” 

Come at the vesper hour, for then Father 
Sebastian is at St. Genevieve’s.” 


16 


182 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The lady did not need a second invitation, for 
she had longed to see her cousin. 

We find her, therefore, at an early opportunity 
by the bedside of Madame de Grammont, who was 
so pale and so emaciated that the countess could 
scarcely conceal her feelings. 

I am full of sorrow, Eugenie,’’ said the in- 
valid,” scarcely knowing what is duty. You know 
how I love my children, and I know that I ought 
to love my Church more; but, alas ! I fear that 
my weak heart excuses Henri’s defection from the 
true Church, and is guilty sometimes of indigna- 
tion toward Father Sebastian when he thinks it 
right to punish him. I am a great sinner, 
Eugenie, and penance and absolution do not re- 
lieve a burdened conscience. These mental 
struggles are wearing out my frame, and life is 
almost a constant burden.” 

Oh, Agnace, dear cousin, if you only knew the 
fullness, the all-sufficiency of the Saviour, you 
would not now be groping your way in darkness 
and doubt ; you might be rejoicing in the glorious 
gospel. You are not sinning in viewing Henri’s 
course with leniency. He is not leaving the true 
Church, Agnace; he is finding his way into the 
true Ark.” 


THE MUFFLED FACE AT THE CHAPEL. 183 

Don’t talk so, Eugenie ! That is heresy, and 
I sin in listening to you. What would Father 
Sebastian say if he knew that you were here? 
He would lay such heavy penances upon me. 
Oh for the happy days of our once blessed 
childhood!” 

‘^Assert your rights, Agnace. You are the mis- 
tress of your own family, the heaven-appointed 
head of your household. Send this meddling 
priest away.” 

Hush, hush, Eugenie I You are mistaken ; 
my children are the property of the holy Church, 
and I have no right to interfere with a priest. 
If I should die, cousin, you will be good to my 
darlings. Promise me, Eugenie, never to forsake 
them.” 

I promise to do all that I can in such a 
sad event; but what can I do against a priest, 
Agnace ?” 

‘‘Protect them from cruelty.” 

“ How, how, Agnace ?” 

In a low whisper, she murmured hoarsely, 

“ Get them, if you can ; I cannot trust Father 
Sebastian.” 

So inconsistent seemed the disjointed conversa- 
tion of the poor lady that the countess feared that 


184 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


her sorrows had disordered her intellect, so little 
did her convictions and her practice harmonize. 

Terrible is the thraldom exercised in house- 
holds where a priest of Rome has sway, and that 
one a Jesuit. As the countess was about leaving 
the bedside the poor invalid, in accents of terror, 
exclaimed. 

Farewell, Eugenie ! Forget what I have 
said. I have committed a great sin. May the 
Holy Virgin forgive me 

I am sorry for you, Agnace. Would that you 
knew the blessedness of those who put their trust 
in Jesus 

“ Kiss me, Eugenie, dear, dear cousin. I have 
never known a friend like you. Honh forget 
me.” 

‘^In my hours of devotion you are always re- 
membered, and now more faithfully than ever.” 

The door closed upon the friends — one left to 
torture herself with imaginary transgressions, the 
other to bear the self-accuser to a throne of grace. 



CHAPTER XIII. 


A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


'VENTS make heroines, and Providence in 
a short space frequently does the work of 
^ years in developing character. Antoinette 
has, at seventeen, all the depth and fervor 
of a lofty Christian. Accustomed to hear of 
heroic deeds among her own ancestry, and to 
’dwell in an atmosphere charged with danger, she 
is daily changing into the image which she so 
delights to contemplate. 

Passing years have left their marks everywhere 
upon devoted France, and the Huguenot popula- 
tion feel as if they are dwelling near a volcano 
that may at any moment overwhelm them in its 
devastations. Outrages constantly occur in the 
neighborhood of the chtoau, arising chiefly from 
the enmity kindled by the priests among the 
peasantry — sometimes ending in the loss of life, 


16 * 


185 


186 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


frequently in the loss of property ; but there is 
no law for the Huguenot in France. Sustained 
by faith in God and submission to his will, the 
family at the chateau sleep quietly beneath the 
protecting wing of Providence, each day asking 
for grace to bear whatever it may bring forth. 

It is a stormy night; the rolling thunder and 
vivid lightning have kept Antoinette awake until 
the midnight hour, for gusts so heavy are unusual 
in Languedoc. But hark ! there is a violent 
ringing of the great bell of the chateau — an- 
other peal, and yet another ! 

What can it mean exclaimed the affrighted 
girl. Throwing on her dressing-gown, she speeds 
along the corridor to call Baptiste, who is already 
on the way down stairs. 

“Who can it be, Baptiste?’’ said Antoinette, 
in tones of alarm. 

I fear that something is amiss at Count 
Eumford’s or at the hamlet; but there may be 
some other cause. Had you not better keep away 
from the door? we know not who is there, in 
these days, friend or foe.” 

But Antoinette was pushing forward, anxious 
to know the truth. 

By this time they had reached the door, and 


A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


187 


opening it, to their surprise, Father Paul, 
drenched with rain and blanched with terror, 
presented himself. 

‘‘What is the matter, father exclaimed An- 
toinette. 

“ Fearful horrors at the hamlet ! The dra- 
. goons are there, murdering the poor, helpless 
people.^^ 

“When did they come?” 

“About sundown, mademoiselle; and the sight 
of that horrid massacre has made me a Huguenot. 
Pauline Milot and her husband, Gaspard Leroux, 
old Philip Marteau, Jean Ducomb and half a 
score of helpless women, are among the victims. 
They are tired now with their bloody work, and 
in a state of brutal intoxication are sleeping in 
the desolate cottages. I came to raise the alarm, 
for they will be here by the dawn of day.” 

“ Call papa, Baptiste,” said Antoinette. “ We 
must away to our hiding-places. Put food and 
drink in both places, for we know not how long 
we may be kept there, and then fly to Count Rum- 
ford’s. Bring them all here, Baptiste; be quick, 
not a moment is to be lost !” 

“ Oh, mademoiselle !” said the aged priest, “ I 
can never forget the heroic faith of those devoted 


188 


THE OLD chateau. 


men and women. Not one would deny their re- 
ligion ; though some suffered cruel tortures, their 
last words were those of faith, and hope, and 
forgiveness. It was so sublime, mademoiselle, 
though so full of horror.’’ 

The whole household were speedily dressed, and 
the family of the chateau took refuge in the turret, 
while Count Rumford’s sought the room back of 
the chapel. 

And there, in humble confidence in God their 
Saviour, they awaited the coming of the monsters. 
Father Paul went back to the hamlet, to minister, 
if possible, to the surviving sufferers. AVith her 
arm around her sisters, Antoinette sought to quiet 
their fears, for they were nearly paralyzed by 
terror. 

Through the skylight the dawn of day was at 
length visible, and the sound of horses’ hoofs was 
distinctly heard ; as they drew nearer the chateau, 
shouts and curses, mingled with laughter, chilled 
the hearts ot the watchers in the turret. 

The troopers are dismounting now; the clash- 
ing of sabres is distinctly heard, and in a few 
minutes the tramping of their high boots an- 
nounces their arrival in the hall. 

Soon they are spread through the rooms of the 


A MID2?IGHT ALARM. 


189 


chateau, cursing the invisible members of the 
household. 

Wehl burrow out the rats,” said one, with a 
fearful oath, kicking over chairs and tables in 
his passage. 

They are somewhere in this house,” said 
another ; wehl bleed them well for the trouble 
that they give us.” 

After scouring the place for an hour longer, the 
captain of the band called out, 

“ Come, my lads ! look out for something to 
satisfy our hunger; you are ready, I doubt not; 
I am as hungry as a wolf” 

Two or three descended to the vaults, where 
provision and wine were kept, and soon returned 
laden with enough to feed the band. Seated in 
the dining-room, for an hour more they regaled 
themselves with the rich provisions and drank 
deep of the choice wines. 

Inflamed by their revel, they started again, and 
were soon on the passageway that led to the turret. 
The tramping of their rough boots and striking 
of their spurs, together with the horror of their 
blasphemous tongues, made the trembling hearts 
of the females in the turret almost stand still, 
but Antoinette was the comfort of all. 


190 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


Striking their sabres against the walls to sound 
them, they seemed to tarry long in the neighbor- 
hood of the turret, a circumstance filling the in- 
mates with renewed terror. Suddenly, one beastly 
drunk fell against the panel, and Antoinette 
held her hands close over her sisters’ mouths, to 
hush the exclamations about to come, for they 
were sure that they would burst the panel open. 

We’ll have to give them up,” said the cap- 
tain, turning away from the turret; ^^but this old 
chateau will be grand head-quarters while we 
stay in the neighborhood.” 

Even this was a relief to the listeners, for in 
the absence of their tormentors they could seek 
the cave, where no eye could discover their 
hiding-place. 

Praise God for this deliverance !” said Mad- 
ame de Luneville as she heard their retreating 
footsteps down the broad staircase ; and then 
they all bowed down around the good pastor, 
who in tones of humble gratitude returned thanks 
to God for their escape. 

Soon the clatter of spurs and clank of sabres 
were heard again ; then the trampling of horses’ 
hoofs announced their departure for a season. 

After a silence of half an hour the count ven- 


A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


191 


turecl forth, and was about to descend the stairs 
when the sound of a heavy boot was heard ; and 
over the banisters he beheld a dragoon, who had 
returned for a brace of pistols which he had left 
behind. Stealing back into the turret, he waited 
a short time longer, and then ventured forth 
again. 

Come down, Baptiste/’ said the count. Get 
what provision there is left, and hurry it quick- 
ly into the cave, for we know not how long we 
must be concealed.” 

Large quantities had been devoured, and sad 
havoc had been made in the dining-room — chairs 
defaced, tables broken and the remains of china 
and glass scattered all around. 

It did not take long to prepare the cave for the 
reception of the family, and by the time that the 
dragoons returned they were safely sheltered in 
company with Count Kumford’s household, in 
the subterranean room. 

Another day and night of terror, and Baptiste 
ventured to reconnoitre the garden. No signs of 
the terrible visitors appeared save the destruction 
they had wrought, and the faithful servant stole 
out into the open road, where he might inquire 
concerning their whereabouts. 


192 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


It M^as certain now that they had departed ; 
but never again can that lovely hamlet wear its 
old appearance of neatness and content. 

Many households had lost both heads — others, 
sweet and lovely children ! The angel of sorrow 
took up his abode among the desolated home- 
steads. 

The household at the chateau are seated once 
more around the family board. 

‘^Unbroken yet,’^ said the good count, seated 
between his wife and mother, and turning a look 
of fond affection upon his two elder children and 
then on the pale faces of the younger. 

Suddenly a peal of joy-bells rang out from the 
tower of St. Genevieve. 

What can that mean ?’^ said the countess ; 
this is the vesper hour, but that is an unusual 
peal.’^ 

I can tell you,’’ said Pastor la Roche ; they 
are singing the Te Deum at the chapel, and prais- 
ing God for these ‘deeds of blood ; no unusual 
thing after such scenes as those of the last two 
fearful days.” 

“ How can they rejoice over such horrors ?” 
said Antoinette. 

They regard us as the enemies of holy mother 


A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


193 


Church/’ was the reply, ^^and rejoice over our 
destruction as an act of piety.” 

But Father Paul was not present at that sing- 
ing of the Te Deum, for the poor old priest was 
sicjk in bed — sick at heart. 

Next day the countess and Magdalen sought 
the ruined hamlet. Pitiable was the sight ; every- 
where were marks of desolation and death. 

Just inside of the gate of the Milot cottage, on 
a broken chair, sat the orphan boy, Mauric^e Mi- 
lot, stupefied by grief. The countess sat down by 
his side, and drawing his head upon her shoulder, 
looked with pity upon the bloodshot eyes that 
scarcely recognized the lady. 

Look at me, Maurice ; I am your mother’s 
friend.” 

I have no mother, lady ; they thrust a cru- 
cifix down her throat till the blood gushed (mt. 
She tried to reach the woods, but they dragged 
her back by the hair of her head. Oh, my 
mother, my mother!” 

Don’t think of that, Maurice ; think of her 
before the throne, at rest for ever. There she 
waits for you, my dear boy.” 

‘‘ They hung Uncle Gaspard on a tree and they 
stabbed Felix with a dagger.” 

17 N 


194 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


How did you escape, Maurice?” 

I ran to the woods ; a good many hid there, 
for it was almost night when they came.” 

“ See, Maurice, the funerals are coming !” said 
the countess. 

The surviving peasants had gathered together 
the mangled remains and had arrayed them for 
the tomb. They had placed them in plain coffins, 
intending that they should rest side by side in 
the little cemetery belonging to the hamlet until 
the resurrection-day. Maurice had forgotten 
all about it, but the countess, taking his hand, 
joined the solemn procession, chanting as they 
passed on comforting passages from the blessed 
Bible. 

Gathered around the open graves, they listened 
while the pastor read those ever-grateful words 
from the Bevelation of St. John : 

“ These are they which came out of great tribu- 
lation, and have washed their robes and made 
them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore 
are they before the throne of God, and serve him 
day and night in his temple: and He that sittetb 
on the throne shall dwell among them. They 
shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, 
neither shall the sun light on them nor any heat. 


A MIDNIGHT ALADM. 


195 


For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne 
shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living 
fountains of watere : and God shall wipe away all 
tears from their eyes/^ 

A solemn funeral hymn was sung by the 
mourners, and after an earnest prayer the remains 
of the martyrs were committed to the silent grave, 
destined to be among the first on the great day 
who rise to meet their coming Lord. 

The mournful music had opened the flood-gates 
of the orphan boy^s heart, and long after the rest 
had departed Maurice sat upon his parents’ grave, 
shedding healing tears. Father Paul had been 
among the mourners at those honored graves, and 
had kept his eye upon the desolate boy. 

Come, Maurice,” said the good man, I have 
a home for you with Edouard Grosjean ; he has 
lost his wife and son in this cruel massacre, and 
wants a son to comfort him.” 

Leading the boy to the cottage, the desolate 
man took Maurice by the hand, and seating him 
on a low chair by the window, said. 

That was Fran9ois’ seat ; if you only fill it as 
dutifully as he did, you will comfort me for the 
loss of my boy.” 

Bowing his head upon his hands, his strong 


196 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


frame shook with agonized feeling, and Maurice 
taking the mourner’s hand, said, 

“ I will be a son to you, God being my helper 
and Edouard Grosjean replied. 

And by the help of God, I will be a father to 
you, my poor, desolate boy.” 

And thus the compact was sealed between the 
bereaved and sorrow-stricken heart’s. 

But we will step in a moment at St. Omars, 
for there is an open rupture between the priest 
and Henri de Grammont. 

What means the ringing of the bells of St. 
Genevieve at this hour ?” said the youth, for they 
had sent out their joyful peal daily since the 
massacre at the hamlet. 

Rejoicing over the destruction of our en- 
emies,” responded the priest, ‘^as you would, Hen- 
ri, if you were a true son of the Holy Church.” 

rejoice in a massacre like that? the murder 
of helpless women and children ! None but 
devils could devise such a monstrous deed. If 
calm, deliberate thought had not already freed me 
from the bondage of the Romish faith, this one 
deed of cruelty would have for ever dissolved the 
hateful bond.” 

Bold, daring heretic !” said the priest, white 


A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


197 


with rage, it is time that restraint should be 
laid upon your impious tongue, or that it should 
be for ever silenced.’’ 

“ It is too late. Father Sebastian, to tame a 
spirit that the Gospel has set free. Enjoying the 
blessed liberty of a son of God, none of these 
threats move me.” 

“ Our holy Mother has many ways of break- 
ing the spirit of rebellion ; but” (changing his 
tone, he continued) wonder that a faithful 
son can grieve a sick and suffering mother as you 
are daily doing.” 

A tear stood in Henri’s eye, which he hastily 
brushed away, replying, 

‘‘ Ah ! there is the tender spot in my heart. I 
could bear torture, imprisonment, death itself, 
calmly, but to pain my loving, tender mother, 
that is agony ; and yet the voice of conscience 
urges me forward, regardless of personal con- 
sequences.” 

The priest smiled kindly on the youth, for he 
was an adept at dissimulation and flattery : 

** What a pity that such a noble, generous na- 
ture should be so misled, and that with talents of 
the highest order you should court ruin and the 
utter destruction of every earthly hope !” 


198 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Let me answer, Father Sebastian, in the 
words of St. Paul : 

“^Yea doubtless, and I count all things but 
loss for the excellency of the knowledge of 
Christ Jesus my Lord ; for whom I have suf- 
fered the loss of all things, and do count them 
but dung, that I may win Christ, and be found 
in him.’” 

“ I have warned, persuaded, entreated ; I have 
done. Henceforth on your own head will rest the 
consequences of your folly.” 

‘^Amen, so be it. Father Sebastian. In the 
last trying hour of mortal life may you know 
something of the peace that fills my heart ever 
since I have known my Lord and Saviour. This 
is my constant prayer, the one desire of my soul, 
even for you, my enemy.” 

The priest turned away, too much touched to 
allow Henri to see his emotion. 

Seated in the private room he said. 

Strange infatuation ! AVhat is it that so fills 
the heart as to make it insensible to all earthly 
good?” 

He had not yet learned the power of that faith 
which endured as seeing Him who is invisible 
nor could he know that the eye which by faith has 


A MIDNIGHT ALARM. 


199 


seen the King in his beauty, has learned to look 
with contempt on all created things. 

There was another spirit at St. Omars besides 
Henri’s disturbed by the unseemly rejoicing at 
St. Genevieve’s, and that was Madame de Gram- 
mont’s ; she begged to have the windows closed 
that she might not be tortured by those untimely 
peals, for from her window she had seen the 
mournful funerals of the murdered peasants, and 
her woman’s heart had been wrung with anguish. 

You must seek Father Paul, Henri,” said 
she, and convey this purse to him for the use 
of the sufferers in that once peaceful hamlet. I 
am bewildered, my son. Can this horrible mas- 
sacre be right? I dare not think, for Father 
Sebastian would call this damnable heresy.” 

Dear mother,” replied her son, “ there is a 
source of light, the blessed Bible, that will banish 
all your doubts and clear every cloud.” 

Don’t tempt me, Henri ; it is contrary to the 
rules of our holy mother Church, and I dare not 
disobey. But don’t let Father Sebastian know 
about the purse.” 



CHAPTER XIV. 



THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 

ERY tender is the love between the 
j mother and children at St. Omars, for 
under the thraldom of a Jesuit priest it 
is the mother’s only source of comfort; 
therefore much of her children’s time is spent 
by the bedsrde of the invalid. 

It is Henri’s custom to read during a part of 
each day from some of the most spiritual writers 
in the Romish Church, and wherever a grain of 
pure wheat is found to direct attention especially 
to that, not noticing the chaff. 

‘^You see, dear mother, wherever there is a 
sure hope of heaven among these ancient saints, 
all their trust was in Jesus and his atonino- 

o 

sacrifice, and not in any merit of their own.” 

And yet they were very particular about fast- 
ing and obedience to the Church.” 

Yes, mamma, that is true, for so they had 
200 



THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 201 

been educated ; but through all their writings 
tills precious faith runs like a silver, thread of 
heavenly tissues. Doubtless in their heart of 
hearts they were united to Christ by a living 
faith, though mixed with, much of wood and hay 
and stubble, destined to be burned in the final 
j udgment.’^ 

‘‘Would that I could feel sure of my accept- 
ance, Heni’i, but clouds and darkness are often 
about my path.’’ 

“ Live under the cross, my mother, and trust 
in Him who hung there in such mortal agony for 
sinners.” 

“ I try, Henri, and sometimes catch a glimpse 
of peace; then Father Sebastian comes with his 
penances and fasting, and as soon as my eye is 
turned inward upon myself, then come the clouds 
again. Sometimes he bids me be more abundant 
in good works, but alas ! they all are so wretch- 
edly imperfect! But, by the by, I hope that you 
do not forget the poor sufferers in the hamlet.” 

“ I hear from them daily through Father 
Paul, and your benefactions are most gratefully 
received.” 

“ There is my purse, Henri ; you will find four 
louisd’ors ; give them to the good priest. 1 


202 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


suppose that Father Sebastian would think me a 
disloyal Catholic to be sending such alms, but I 
always feel happy after these gifts, for they are 
our enemies, you know, and we are taught to 
forgive such.’’ 

Now, mamma, I must be gone ; had you not 
better rest a while?” and stooping down, he 
kissed the pale lips with more than usual ten- 
derness. 

In the course of the day we find the young 
man at Father Paul’s with his mother’s gift. 

‘^Here is some more money, father, for the 
people at the hamlet,” said Henri ; my mother 
has sent four louisd’ors.” 

Heaven bless her!” said the priest; her bene- 
factions have comforted many a weary sufferer.” 

‘^How is it. Father Paul, that you remain 
among the priests, with the light that you pos- 
sess ?” 

I can serve the true faith better under this 
disguise. I know many secrets now that would 
be carefully concealed were I suspected.” 

‘‘But how about the mass, father?” 

“ I attend with reserve, Henri. To me, the 
wafer is but an emblem of my Saviour’s suffer- 
ings, and the wine but an emblem of his blood. 


THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 203 

When others are praying to the saints, I pray to 
Jesus only, and in my secret retirement read not 
the missal nor the lives of saints, but the blessed 
word of God/^ 

The conscience of Father Paul had been so 
long accustomed to dissimulation where the 
Church was concerned that his present tortuous 
jiath seemed fully justified in his own eyes. 

Henri was not well, but ere retiring for the 
night he sought his mother’s room. 

I have had a serious day, my son,” said the 
invalid, ^‘and have thought much about the 
future of my beloved children. My health is 
very precarious, and should I be taken from you, 
I wish you to seek your uncle Matthieu, your 
father’s brother, who lives at Montauban. He 
is a bachelor and a worthy man, but having 
adopted the Keformed faith, our families have 
been long separated.” 

have never seen him, mamma,” was the 

reply. 

He was here once when you were a very little 
boy, but you have forgotten him ; and since that 
time I have heard from him occasionally. He is 
wealthy, and has a very warm heart toward his 
brother’s children. Hand me that card and pen- 


204 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


cil, Henri ; there, that is his address ; do not 
lose it.’^ 

Placing it in his pocket-book, he was about to 
leave the room when his mother said. 

You do not look well, my son ; what ails 
you?’' 

I think that I have taken cold, for my head 
and limbs ache badly." 

See that your brother has a warm draught, 
Coral ie, after he retires ; go to Bettihe and order 
it now, my dear." 

The sister left the room, and the mother draw- 
ing her son down close to her pillow, said, 

“ The holy Virgin bless you, my dear boy; I 
hope that you will be better in the morning; 
now kiss me once more." 

The caress was once more exchanged, and turn- 
ing as he reached the door, he stood a moment 
looking tenderly at the pale and languid sufferer. 

‘^Good-night, good-night, dear mother!"' 

The door closed, and Henri disappeared. The 
priest was in the servants' sitting-room when 
Coral ie entered, and overheard the order for her 
brother. 

Tarrying behind a moment, he said, 

“Wait a while, Bettine; I have a powder that 


THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 205 

^vill do him a great deal of good ; he needs sleep, 
and I’ll warrant that he will not awake for 
twelve hours at least after taking it.” 

The priest returned, and the powder was drop- 
ped into the beverage. 

“ Take that to his room, and tell him to get 
into bed before he takes it, and then come back 
to me.” 

The woman returned, evidently expecting some 
further orders. 

The priest drew near, and in an under tone 
said. 

Wait until he is sound asleep ; then pack his 
trunk with underclothes chiefly ; he will be pro- 
vided, with others when he reaches his destination ; 
where does he keep them ?” 

In his dressing-room, father.” 

“ It is well ; be obedient. Your young master 
is in danger of becoming a heretic, Bettine ; he 
will lose his soul if he* is not rescued, and must 
be put in a place of safety. But remember, not 
one word. Now swear, Bettine, that you will say 
that you know nothing about him ; and if you 
break your oath you will burn for ever and ever, 
for you shall have no mass when you die ; do you 
hear, Bettine ?” 

18 


206 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


I do, father; and I swear by all the saints 
and the holy Virgin to do just what you say. 

The woman was swift 'and silent, and by the 
midnight hour Henri’s sleep was so profound that 
the priest saw that all was ripe for action. 

He was slowly and carefully attired in a loose 
dressing-gown, with stockings, slippers and cap, 
and carried down to a carriage which was in wait- 
ing at the door; the trunk was strapped, and the 
sleeper was laid carefully upon pillows on a board 
stretched across the seats, and with one more 
signal to Bettine, the carriage drove off. 

The pale moon shone down upon that deed of 
darkness, but beyond that silent witness there 
seemed none but Bettine who knew of this in- 
iquity. None ! yes, one — the Avenger of his peo- 
ple’s wrongs. Through the silent hours of the 
night the carriage drove rapidly on until twelve 
o’clock the following day, when they were sev- 
eral leagues on their journey. 

Now came the trial, but Father Sebastian was 
prepared for any emergency. 

Henri is beginning to move, and after two or 
three yawns slowly opens his eyes. In a few 
minutes he is thoroughly awake. Starting up, he 
perceives his state of dishabille. 


THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 207 

What does this mean, Father Sebastian ?” said 
the youth, in tones of indignation. 

Compose yourself, my son ; we are only taking 
a ride.” 

• ‘^Whither! What diabolical plot are you 
working now?” 

‘^You will see after a few days, my son ; in 
the mean while look out and enjoy the prospect.” 

“Do not mock my misery, father. You have 
wrought my ruin, separated me from the mother 
and sister that I love, and consigned our whole 
family to wretchedness. I know your designs, 
proud priest, but you will never triumph over 
me ; the walls of a monastery cannot imprison 
the free soul.” 

Henri perceived that they were now rapidly 
ascending mountain roads ; the beauty of cul- 
tivated homesteads was passing away — thick for- 
ests frequently intervened. Coming out into the . 
open country again, they would descend into 
lovely valleys, and finally the road was all as- 
cending — rough, dreary, grand in its mountain 
solitude. 

Opening a basket, the priest offered Henri 
some refreshment, but he scorned the offer until 
hunger obliged him to partake. 


208 


THE OLD CIIaTEATJ. 


After a few clays’ journey the priest ehangecl 
his tactics. 

^‘This is a sad piece of folly, Henri,” said tlie 
priest, in oily tones : the Church does not easily 
consign her dear children to everlasting misery, 
and yoii may be sure that every measure will be 
tried to bring you back to her bosom ; you are in 
her power now. If you are wise you will abjure 
your preposterous heresy at once ; but if obstinate, 
terrible will be your future days.” 

Henri smiled : 

‘‘ A^ou know not. Father Sebastian, the pre- 
ciousness of my new hopes, or you would not 
dream that your threats could have the smallest 
weight in my estimation.” 

Henri thrust his hand into the bosom of his 
dressing-gown to feel for a small package which 
he always wore next his skin. It was safe ; the 
• precious leaves of the blessel Gos23el were his yet ! 

The air was becoming very* cold, for they were 
ascending great heights, and in the whistling of 
the keen, sharp winds through heavy forest trees, 
Henri could scarcely realize that a few days since 
he had basked in the sunny vales of Languedoc. 

A pile of dark stone buildings now appeared in 
sight, and the large cross on the solemn gateway 


THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 209 

announced the monastery of St. Ignatius. En- 
tirely out of sight of human habitation, enclosed 
in high stone walls on this mountain summit, 
dark, dreary, desolate indeed appeared this prison- 
home. It is the vesper hour, for the bell is call- 
ing the priests to their devotions, but sounding 
to Henri like a funeral knell. Dismounting, 
Father Sebastian rang the bell at the postern, and 
was soon answered by a priest in the habit of the 
monastery, who, with a look of surprise, conducted 
the two to a gloomy parlor. 

Be seated, brother. Father Adrian will be 
here after a little and with these words with- 
drew. 

In perfect silence they sat in waiting a half 
hour longer; then the door slowly opened, and 
the Superior entered. 

‘‘ Father Sebastian of Genevieve ; am I right ?” 
said the monk. 

It is so. Father Adrian ; I have brought you 
a wandering son of the Church, hoping that the 
fatherly correction of this celebrated monastery 
may restore him to the bosom of the holy 
Mother.’^ 

I doubt not that holy meditation in this se- 
cluded place will soon work a cure.” He touched 

18 * 0 


210 


THE OLD chateau. 


a bell, and the monk who had answered at the 
gate appeared. 

Take this youth to his cell, Father Ambrose; 
see him properly clad, and leave a copy of the 
regulations with him.^^ 

Alone with the Superior, Father Sebastian 
made known the story of Henries obstinacy, en- 
larged upon the wealth of St. Omars, and a 
course of discipline was decided upon. In the 
mean while, Henri was conveyed to the cell of an 
acolyte, where his hair and beard were shaven 
close, and he arrayed in the dress of the monas- 
tery. 

He perceived that there was a small window 
through which the light of day found its way into 
this room ; there were an iron bedstead, a small 
table on which was a crucifix, and one chair ; 
several small pictures of the saints hung upon 
the walls, and several others, representing the 
punishments inflicted upon obstinate offenders in 
this life, and some depicting the tortures of the 
lost in the world to come, and a small shelf con- 
taining books of study, completed the furniture. 

Taking up the regulations of the monastery, he 
found that he was obliged to attend matins, nones, 
vespers and the midnight mass, to go to confes- 


THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 211 

sion and the mass as the other inmates did, to 
fast, study a certain amount daily, etc. 

Henri’s course was clearly marked out ; he 
must obey the call to service, but he need not 
worship the Virgin or the saints; these hours 
shall be hours of communion with his Saviour, 

If obliged to attend at confession, no force could 
make him receive absolution at the hands of a 
priest. Fasting he did not object to, but the 
abomination of the mass he would never coun- 
tenance. 

Taking out his precious treasure, he read a few 
verses of his Master’s own teaching, and kneeling 
by the side of his bed poured out his heart in 
earnest, heartfelt prayer. It was supplication 
for strength, for grace to bear all that was before 
him, for an enduring faith that looks beyond this 
vale of tears ; then he commended his precious 
mother and beloved sister to the care of his and 
their Father; nor did he in this hour of separation 
forget the dear friends at the chateau, especially 
Antoinette, for theirs were kindred spirits united 
in the purest of all bonds. Then he slept the 
peaceful slumber of one under the care of Heaven, 
and awoke in the early morning to attend to his 
own devotions ere the matin-bell sounded. 


212 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


lie was carefully watched all day, and Father 
Ambrose reported that he did not use the holy 
water, nor adore the host, nor count his beads. 

He was sent for by the Superior : 

“ I am grieved, my son, to find that you are 
disobedient to your holy Mother; that you do 
not bless yourself on entering the chapel, nor 
adore the host, nor use your rosary.'^ 

^^That is true. Father Adrian,’’ replied the 
youth, for I do not perceive that holy water is 
any better than other water. I believe that I 
should commit the sin of idolatry in worshiping 
the so-called God which the hands of priests have 
made, and that, as I do not pray to the saints, 
I need no rosary on which to count my prayers.” 

Terrible, terrible, my son ! yours is heresy 
indeed ; but we will give you a week to consider 
your present course, and we hope that you will 
not oblige us to use other measures.” 

Father Sebastian was about to leave, and, bid- 
ding Henri farewell, remarked, 

“ I hope that you will be wise in time, my 
son, for back to the holy Mother you must be 
brought.” 

It was a relief to know that he was gone, and 
Henri sought his cell to commune with his 


THE MONASTERY IN THE CEVENNES. 213 

Saviour. He had not been long alone ere Father 
Ambrose made his- appearance. 

You are a foolish boy, my son,” said the 
priest, for no one ever conquers here ; and if you 
continue your obstinacy, sore will be your punish- 
ments.” 

No one can harm me without God’s permis- 
sion, father, and if I am called to pass through 
days of persecution, he will give me grace to bear 
it all for the sake of my dear Lord !” 

“ You know not what you defy, Henri de 
Grammont. The power of the Church is supreme 
in France, and you are but a feeble worm under 
its godly discipline.” 

For this one week Henri was allowed to walk 
in the yard of the monastery, but it was solitary 
exercise, for all the priests save one avoided him 
as a being tainted with leprosy. Father Benedict 
pitied the lonely youth, and when he could speak 
a kind word without the notice of the others, he 
did not fail to do it; so that when they attended 
the chapel services, Henri generally contrived to 
be near Father Benedict, who alone did not frown 
upon him. 



CHAPTER XV. 

A BREAKING HEART. 

AD was the mother’s waking on the morn- 
ing after Henri’s departure. Unusually 
late in making his appearance, Madame 
de Grammont summoned Coralie to her 

bedside. 

Plow is your brother, my daughter?” she 
inquired. 

He has not left his room yet, mamma,” w^as 
the reply. 

Go inquire; he may be worse, Coralie.” 

The sister hastened to her brother’s room ; 
knocking at the door, there was no answer; she 
knocked louder still — still no answer. Alarmed, 
Coralie now opened the door. 

Henri was not there ; the clothes that he had 
worn the day before were in his dressing-room ; 
lie had slept in the bed, for there were marks of 

an occupant. 

214 




A BREAKING HEART. 


215 


Opening his bureau drawers, there had evi- 
dently been a number of under-garments removed. 
Hastening from the room, she inquired of Bettine, 
who said that she had not seen him that morning. 

‘^Go to Father Sebastian; perhaps he knows 
something about my brother.” 

The servant returned with the intelligence that 
he was nowhere to be found. Here was, indeed, 
a mystery. 

In extreme distress. Coral ie hurried to her 
mother : 

‘‘Oh, mamma, mamma, Henri is missing, and 
no one knows anything about him !” 

“ What do you mean, Coralie ?” 

“He has gone, mamma, and no one knows 
where.” 

“ Send Father Sebastian to me, alone.” 

“ He has gone, too, mamma ; all the clothes 
that Henri wore yesterday are in his dressing- 
room ; none of his outer clothing is gone, only 
his dressing-gown, his cap and under-clothing.” 

“Send Bettine to me, Coralie. Oh this is 
anguish indeed !” 

With an innocent look, Bettine obeyed the 
call. 

“Do you know anything of Henri, Bettine?” 


216 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


“Is he missing, madame?’^ inquired the 
woman. “ I did not know it.’’ 

“When did you see him last, Bettine?” 

“ When I gave him the warm draught, 
madame.’^ 

“Did you see him in bed, Bettiue?’’ 

“ Yes, madame, I did indeed ; and when I 
went back to look at him he was fast asleej).’’ 

“And this is all you know, Bettine?’^ 

“ Yes, madame, this is all ; I wish I knew 
more;” and the hypocrite wiped her tears with 
her apron. 

“Do you know where Father Sebastian has 
gone ?” 

“How should I know, madame? He never 
tells me, and you know that he often goes away.” 

“ Leave me now, Bettine ; my heart is almost 
broken. Coralie, go for the countess ; I know 
not what to do.” 

The agitated girl flew to the chateau and com- 
municated the dreadful intelligence. 

The countess lost not a moment in returning 
with Coralie. The sight of her cousin opened the 
floodgates of feeling, for terror had dried up the 
fountain of tears. Opening her arms to receive 
the stricken mother, the countess sat down on the 


A BREAKING HEART. 


217 


side of her bed, supporting the bowed head upon 
her bosom. 

“Oh, Eugenie, was ever grief heavier than 
mine ? Can you solve this mystery 

“ The priest and Henri have gone together, 
Agnace ; I am sure of that.’’ 

“ AVhere do suppose that they have gone ?” 

“ Doubtless to some monastery ; perhaps Father 
Paul may help us.” 

“ If that is really so, I despair of ever seeing 
Henri again. Father Sebastian has no mercy for 
heretics. Would that he had never come to St. 
Omars ! Father Ambrose never disturbed our 
domestic peace as this priest has done.” 

“ Let me question Betline, Agnace ; she is com- 
pletely under the priest’s guidance, and perhaps 
she know'S something.” 

The servant- woman w^s again summoned to 
the room. 

“ Have you no idea what has become of Hen- 
ri, Bettine ?” 

“ How should I know, madame ? If I did, 
don’t you suppose that I would be glad, for I 
nursed him from the time that he was born until 
he was too old ?” 

“ You saw him after he went to bed, Bettine?” 

19 


218 


THE OLD CHIteAU. 


^^Yes; I went to see if he was comfortable, 
and he was sound asleep.” 

Did you not hear a carriage drive off about 
midnight? Baptiste did; one of the horses was 
sick, and he was just returning from the stable 
about that time ; he says that he saw a carriage 
drive off at a furious rate just after twelve 
o’clock.” 

Bettine changed color : 

^‘1 did not hear any carriage, madame; Bap- 
tiste must have been mistaken.” 

Not very likely, Bettine ; but go bring Father 
Paul here; he may help us to fathom this mys- 
tery.” 

As the woman passed out, Guillaume and An- 
toinette entered the room, both deeply afflicted by 
the calamity at St. Omars. Antoinette threw her 
arms around Coralie, and both wept long and 
silently. 

“He is in some monastery, Coralie,” said the 
young lady, “ and Henri de Grammont will never 
recant ; he is too brave for that. There is no 
hope but in obtaining knowledge of where he is 
immured. But here comes Father Paul; he will 
help us.” 

“ What is this, madame?” said the good priest. 


A BREAKING HEART. 


219 


It cannot be possible tliat any one has dared to 
place under restraint a spirit like your son.’’ 

“ Poor, misguided Henri !” exclaimed the mo- 
ther ; if he had only remained true to his faith, 
this would never have happened ” 

He must be brought back,” responded Fa- 
ther Paul ; ^^no monastery in all France shall hold 
Henri de Grammont.” 

Madame looked surprised, supposing that his 
feelings would all have been against the wan- 
derer. 

“ How will you find out. Father Paul ?” 

‘‘By seeming unconcerned, watching all the 
priests and all the letters. I shall never rest 
until I set him free. Don’t give yourself up to 
grief, madame ; it is only a question of time.” 

The mother was comforted at the priest’s ex- 
pressions of confidence. The old man asked mi- 
nute questions of every one, especially of Bettine. 

After she had left the room he said exultingly, 

“I have the clue! They went away together, 
and Bettine knows more than she says. Now for 
watching that sly old fox when he returns; it 
will be something to outwit Father Sebastian !” 

And so matters remained for about ten days, 
when the priest returned. 


220 


THE OLD CIIItEAU. 


‘^Send tile priest to me, Coralie/’ said the 
mother. , 

I am glad to see you so mucli better, mad- 
ame,’’ said t^ke artful priest, taking her hand ; 
^‘you are really looking quite young again.’^ 

^‘Better, Father Sebastian ? I shall never be 
better until I see my darling boy. Can you tell 
me where he is, father 

“ This much, madame : he is well and in a 
place of safety, but ask no more.’' 

“ Will he be gone from us long ?” 

“That remains for him to decide. When 
he is ready to act as the heir of St. Omars, 
then he will return, but not before. This splen- 
did estate shall , never pass into the hands of a 
heretic.” 

Coralie stood aloof from the priest, for ever 
since her old faith had been unsettled she had be- 
come more and more estranged from him ; and 
now that she was sure that he had conveyed away 
her brother, her aversion was still stronger ; there- 
fore all advances made by the priest toward con- 
fidence were indignantly repelled. 

“You do not look well, Coralie,” said Father 
Sebastian. “Suppose that we take a ride this 
afternoon ?” 


A BREAKING HEART. 


221 


Excuse me, father, I have no inclination for 
amusement now.’^ 

You had better suspend your studies for a 
■while, my daughter, and, if you -wish, go over 
and see your cousins at the chateau.’^ 

This was unexpected, for never before had the 
priest countenanced her visiting there. 

You are very kind, father. If mamma can 
spare me, I will go for a short time.” 

Consent obtained, Coralie was soon with her 
cousins at the chateau. 

How is this, dear Coralie?” said Antoinette. 

‘‘ Father Sebastian is unusually kind to-day ; 
perhaps he is sorry for our trouble,” was the reply. 

“He has some secret motive, Coralie; donT 
trust the priest too far, my dear cousin ; he has 
betrayed your brother, and can have no good in- 
tentions in his changed policy. Have you any 
idea where he has placed Henri?” 

“ None in the least. I am pretty certain, how- 
ever, that he is in some monastery, but we hope 
much from Father Paul.” 

Grief and anxiety daily wore upon Madame de 
Grammont, for her heart was wrapped up in her 
children, and this state of suspense was hard to 
bear. 


222 


THE OLD CIIATEAU. 


We will once more join the prisoner in the 
monastery. 

Sustained by faith in God, Henri still remained 
firm in his convictions of duty, consequently the 
discipline was changed. He was not allowed to 
walk in the monastery now, nor to join the monks 
in the refectory ; he observed, also, that the quan- 
tity and quality of his food w’ere changing. This 
state of affairs continued for some weeks, and his 
health and strength were affected by the treat- 
ment. 

None of the monks noticed him at chapel save 
Father Benedict, who still dropped a kind word 
as opportunity offered. Confined entirely to his 
cell excepting at hours of service, dreary indeed 
was the lot of the sufferer for conscience’ sake, 
and were it not for the comforts of the blessed 
Spirit, the dreariness would have been intolerable. 

One evening a gentle tap was heard at the 
door of his cell, and on opening it Father Bene- 
dict presented himself. 

Come in, father,’’ said the youth ; it is 
pleasant to see a human face in these dreary 
hours.” 

“ Don’t speak too loud, my son, for these are 
interdicted visits, and I should have to perform a 


A BREAKING HEART. 


223 


heavy penance if detected ; but I feel for you, and 
came to drop a few warning words.^^ 

thank you, Father Benedict, for I believe 
that you are the only one in this dark abode that 
entertains a feeling of kindness for me.’^ 

You know not, my son, what is before you 
should you persevere in your heresy. I could 
tell you some of the secrets of the dungeons 
under this monastery that would curdle your 
very blood ' 

God will not allow me to be tempted above 
what I am able to bear, father — ‘ As my day so 
shall my strength be.’ ” 

Can you bear to think of a dungeon so damp 
and cold that the water is always dripping from 
its dreary walls, and darkness so profound that 
not a ray of light ever penetrates the gloom 
‘‘ It is a dreadful picture to a glad young spirit 
such as mine was, father, but if I am to abjure 
my faith or suffer all this, I must even so abide.” 

I have warned you, my son, and would gladly 
save you if I could. Good-night; may the holy 
Virgin bless you and guide you in your decision !” 

Good-night, father ; it will cheer me to know 
that there is one pitying spirit here that remem- 
bers Henri de Grammont in his lonely cell.” 


224 


THE OLD CHAtEAU. 


The door closed, and, after composing his soul 
in earnest prayer Henri sought his rest. The 
wind was whistling through the corridors of the 
monastery and there were indications of a violent 
storm. Fiercer howled the blast, and the cold 
gusts blew through the stone building, penetrat- 
ing the cells, the snow beating in through the 
cracks of the windows and under the sills of the 
massy doors in heavy drifts. 

It was bitter cold in Henri’s cell, for no extra 
covering was allowed on stormy nights, but there 
was a feeling of sweet security amid the howling 
tempest as he committed himself anew to the 
covenant-keeping care of God his Saviour. 

Next day he was sent for by the Superior, who 
met him in the parlor with a stern countenance. 

‘‘Are you ready, foul apostate, to renounce 
your heresy and to submit to the authority of the 
Church ?” 

“ What you call heresy, father, I regard as 
vital truth, affecting my soul’s eternal peace, and 
therefore I can never retract it and so deny my 
Lord and Master.” 

“ That is enough ; no more words.” He 
touched a bell, and Father Ambrose appeared 
with a lantern in his hand. 


A BREAKING HEART. 


225 


Take the obstinate heretic through the cham- 
ber of penitence; perhaps the sight may cool his 
ardor somewhat, and see that he keeps a mid- 
night vigil in the chapel to-night.^’ 

Follow me,^’ said the priest, leading the way 
through a long corridor, until they reached a 
trap-door at the end. Touching it with his foot, 
the priest descended by a flight of stone steps, 
bidding Henri to folio Wi 

Down, down they went, until they reached a 
subterranean chamber. At the head of the room, 
elevated on a few steps, was a small table, behind 
which was placed a settee for the accommodation 
of inquisitors. There were screws and racks and 
other instruments of torture, but that which at- 
tracted Heuri^s notice most was an image of the 
Virgin, framed of iron. 

‘‘That is a beautiful lady,’’ said the priest, 
“and see what a loving embrace she gives.” 
He touched the machinery, the image advanced, 
and opening wide her arms, disclosed all manner 
of sharp-cutting instruments, then folded those 
cruel arms. Henri could easily imagine what the 
wretched sufferer endured, doomed to such an 
embrace as that. 

The priest led him up to the wall and directed 
p 


226 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


him to examine some niches that stood in a 
row. 

^^You observe these open niches; those are 
walled up/’ pointing to some not far off. 

“ What are these for?” inquired the youth. 

‘^Living tombs; obstinate heretics are walled 
up there alive — a woman there, a man here ;” 
pointing to two such. 

Henri had seen enough of horrors; nearly 
fainting, he followed Father Ambrose up the 
steps and entered the door of his cell once more, 
feeling it to be a paradise compared with the ter- 
rific chamber that he had just left. 

I will be here at midnight to take you to 
the chapel ; be ready,” said the priest. 

^^Must I watch alone, father?” 

Alone is the penance ; perhaps some evil 
spirits may bear you company — none others 
would.” 

The priest left the cell, and Henri took out 
the precious leaves from their hiding-place ; 

“ Let not your heart be troubled : ye believe in God, be- 
lieve also in me. 

“In my Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not 
80, I would have told you. 

“I go to prepare a place for you. 


A BREAKING HEART. 


227 


“If ye suffer, we shall also reign with him. 

“The servant is not greater than his Lord. If they have 
persecuted me, they will also persecute you.” 

Strengthened by these blessed words, Henri 
waited calmly for the summons to the chapel. It 
was storming still, and the bell summoning to 
midnight mass announced the coming of Father 
Ambrose. 

Following him to the chapel, Henri witnessed, 
as he often had done before, the idolatrous cere- 
mony. 

It is over — the last wail of the organ, the last 
priest silently disappeared — and Henri is alone 
in the dreary chapel, with naught but the altar- 
lights to cheer the.darkness, and the howling and 
sighing of the wintry winds the only sounds to 
break the silence. 

Kneeling on the cold stone steps of the altar, 
he remembered the agony of Gethsemane — his 
soul is with his Saviour — and cold, shivering and 
suffering, that midnight vigil is not all gloom and 
darkness, for his Master’s presence is with him. 
It is I, be not afraid.” Lo ! I am with you 
always, to the end of the world,” came stealing 
over his spirit with a sweetness and power un- 
known before those days of sorrow. 


228 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The spirit indeed was willing, but the flesh 
was weak from long fasting and suffering. By 
the dawn of day, worn out with his lonely vigil, 
Henrfs strength gave way, and when the hour 
of matins arrived the priests . found the watcher 
prostrate and insensible on the cold stone pave- 
ment. 

Father Benedict stepped forward, and taking 
the light frame in his arms, notwithstanding the 
scowl on the face of Father Ambrose, conveyed 
him to his cell and applied restoratives. Slowly 
Henri unclosed his eyes, and seeing the pitying 
face of the priest bending over him, he clasped 
the kind hand in his thin, wasted fingers and 
burst into an agony of tears. 

“ This is worn-out physical nature, father,” 
said the sufferer ; the spirit still is willing to 
endure.” 

Can you still hold out, my son ? You can- 
not endure much more, but step by step the cor- 
rections of the Church will enclose you until — ” 
Until death brings sweet relief,” replied 
Henri, with a sickly smile — “be it so, father! 
Others have died for their love to their Lord, and 
so can I.” 

Unable to rise from his cot, he was excused 


A BREAKING HEART. 


229 


from farther attendance in the chapel until noti- 
fied, for it was not the intention of the discipline 
to terminate his sufferings, but to lengthen them 
out as far as possible. 

These were the tender mercies of the only true 
Church — this the benevolence of those who claim 
to be followers of the meek, the lowly, the loving 
Saviour ! How can there be found in this nine- 
teenth century men, and tender women too, who 
are apologists for a Church upon whose records 
still are found unrepealed decrees which sanction 
cruelty like this ? 

For a while the treatment was less severe, and 
Henri gradually recovered his strength. Then 
came another summons from the Superior. 

Stand there, wretched heretic said the proud 
priest to his victim. Are you still determined, 
Henri de Grammont, to persevere in your wicked 
resistance to the authority of the Church ?’’ 

That is my unchanged decision. Father 
Adrian, by the help of God,” was the meek reply; 

my Saviour’s grace has been sufficient thus far, 
and he will not forsake his child in the hour of 
his extremity.” 

The thin hands folded over the faithful breast, 
and the dark eyes turned upward with a look of 
20 


230 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


saintly patience, would have touched any heart 
save that which froze beneath the Jesuitical robe 
of Father Adrian. 

Such is the fanatical, persecuting spirit, of the 
Church of Kome, the lion in all ages, though 
sometimes wearing the face and speaking with 
the voice of the lamb, her own writings and the 
records of her bloody hands being the solemn 
witnesses. 

The bell is touched by the Superior, and, as be- 
fore, answered by Father Ambrose : 

To the chamber of penitence ; it is the choice 
of the obstinate heretic.^^ 

‘^Follow me,’’ said the priest; and as they 
passed out of the parlor, in the corridor they met 
Father Benedict, who turned a sorrowful glance 
upon the sufferer, for he knew whither his foot- 
steps tended. 

Quickly through the dark passage and down 
the gloomy steps, with not one uttered word the 
two proceeded. Two of the most severe of the 
monks were already in the seats of the inquisitors. 

Stand near the holy cross,” said one ; “ if 
ready to obey you will kiss the sacred crucifix ; if 
disobedient still, the discipline of the Church will 
proceed.” 


A BEEAKING HEART. 


231 


My poor body is in your power — my free soul 
nothing can subdue; and may God forgive my 
persecutors, as I do ; but nothing can move 
my determination, though my life is in your 
hands.’^ 

“ Turn your face to the holy Virgin,” said Fa- 
ther Ambrose, in a hard, stern voice. 

Henri obeyed, and the priest stood close by 
him to prevent resistance, while another put the 
machinery in motion. 

The figure advanced. Father Ambrose led 
Henri near enough to receive the embrace of the 
outstretched arms. 

He was clasped to that terrific bosom, one ag- 
onized groan and the blood gushing from the 
wounds told the anguish of that fearful hour. 
The priest took out his watch, counting the sec- 
onds, and then, feeling the pulse of the sufferer, 
ordered him to be removed ; two priests carried 
him, fainting- from loss of blood, to his cell, 
where, extended upon his lowly cot, the heir of 
St. Omars lay long in a state of insensibility. 
Father Benedict was there to receive him, and 
being left alone with the sufferer, dressed his 
wounds. For hours Henri was nearly speech- 
less, but when he recognized the pitying face that 


232 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


bent over him, he pressed the kind hand upon his 
pale lips and murmured, 

^‘Father Benedict, I had grace to be faithful, 
and though my body is prostrate, my soul is filled 
with peace unspeakable.” 

Jesus, have mercy!” ejaculated the priest. 

Show us the way in which we ought to walk I 
Are we walking in the light ?” 

Bringing Henri some refreshing draught, the 
priest obtained permission to stay all night with 
him ; and perhaps Father Benedict never forgot 
the peace, the patient faith and forgiving love of 
that lonely cell. 

We will turn a moment to the secret hours of 
Father Ambrose. He too, is alone — alone with an 
accusing conscience, which he strives to pacify by 
fasting, penances and bodily torture. Next to 
his skin he wears a cross piercing and lacerating 
the flesh. Poor, deluded man ! how shall he 
know when he has suffered enough? To this 
question the answering spirit is ever dumb. He 
leads a desolate and dreary life, for he starves the 
human heart that God has given him, denying it 
the food of warm affection for which it ever pines; 
he has no home, for this icy monastery has not 
one joy of home ; it is simply a prison. He has 


A BREAKING HEART. 


233 


no peace, no light, for these stony walls shut out 
the peace and light of the gospel ; and groping in 
darkness, he wanders on, stumbling forward into 
a dark eternity. Mumbling his*Latin prayers, he 
is daily more paralyzed under the influence of 
spiritual catalepsy. 

Outside of this living tomb are the poor that 
Jesus left to his Church — the weary crowds of suf- 
fering humanity, the helpless orphans, the down- 
trodden and oppressed — all forsaken by these 
moral cowards, afraid to endure the warfare of 
mortal life on the battle-field by God appointed. 

In this everlasting treadmill of Romish ob- 
servances, Father Ambrose is withering daily, as 
the dim eye, the cadaverous, shrunken skin, the 
pale, rigid lips, the lifeless step and the hollow, 
unnatural voice all testify. No sure hope of 
heaven blesses his weary vigils, for between him 
and the Saviour of the soul stands a long line of 
saints, with the Virgin at their head, all inter- 
cepting the vision of the blessed One — imperfect 
mediators at the best, hiding with an impervious 
veil the one 'precious Mediator ^ the man CHRIST 
JESUS ! 

And this is all that a Romish monastery gives 
its priests. 


234 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Let US turn from this dreary mockery of Chris- 
tianity and enter the cell of the sufferer. He has 
given wealth, home, friends — life itself, if needs 
be — for the love, of his Master, and in turn he 
has peace with God, the full assurance of faith, 
communion with his Saviour, the love of God 
shed abroad in his heart by the power of the 
Holy Ghost, filling that heart with love to man 
and the certain hope of a blissful immortality. 
And this is what the pure gospel gives to the 
real spiritual children of God. 

Slowly Henri recovered from his last severe 
trial, and the discipline is renewed, but much 
mitigated. 

When able to return to the chapel, a renewal 
of fasting and lighter penances, with midnight 
vigils frequent in the cold winter nights, were 
laid upon the victim. 

At length the dreary season wore away ; the 
fierce howling of the terrific storms was hushed, 
and there was a consciousness of a milder climate 
even within the monastery. Henri is sure that 
spring is coming, and the young heart longs for 
one glimpse of the sweet face of Nature, the 
mother that he always loved. 

The windows of the monastery are open now, 


A BREAKING HEART. 


235 


and the song of the spring-birds is distinctly 
heard, for there are trees in the yard that sur- 
rounds the building. 

There is a small window by the side of the 
organ that looks out upon this enclosure, and 
Henri contrives to linger one morning after 
matins, that he may have one glimpse of the fair 
blue sky.. He succeeds in climbing up to the 
high window by the aid of a ladder back of the 
organ, placed there to clean the pipes. 

The fresh green leaves, the balmy air, the 
bright blue sky, the singing of the birds flood his 
spirit with happiness, but far beyond these tower 
up ranges of mountains, their purple tints paling 
and softening in the hazy distance. The sight 
overpowers him, for he knows that beyond these 
shadowy peaks lie the fair plains of Languedoc. 

“ Mother, Coralie, Antoinette murmured the 
yearning heart, “shall I never, never see you 
more ?” 

Leaning his head upon the sill, tears stole 
down the thin, pale face as he thought of those 
beloved ones. 

Just then a sweet bird lighted upon a branch 
of a tree near the window and sang its blithe 
morning song. Stretching out his hand, Henri 


236 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


was able to pluck a small twig from the green 
tree, and kissing it as the olive branch of Noah’s 
weary dove, he descended, cheered by this glimpse 
of his Father’s world. 

Mine, too,” said Henri ; by what authority 
dare any mortal man rob his brother of his in- 
heritance?” . 

More criminal still is he who locks up God’s 
blessed word and the news of a Saviour’s love 
from a world that he died to redeem. 





CHAPTER XVI. 

CORALIE. 

.CK to Languedoc, and we are again at 
St. Omars. The light has all gone out 
since the disappearance of Henri, for to 
Coralie and her mother he was the star 
around which clustered all their earthly hopes. 

Closer became the union between the two, and 
daily did they recall the sweet prattle of his 
childhood, his merry, sparkling boyhood, and his 
bright, promising youth. 

It cannot be that he has gone for ever,” said 
Coralie, for, mamma, I pray day and night that 
God would restore us to each other. What a 
happy meeting it will be !” 

What does Father Paul say, my daughter ?” 

He is very hopeful yet, although Henri has 
been gone so long ; he says that he will find him ; 
but he must be kept in very close confinement 
not to be able to get one line to us, mamma.” 




238 


THE OLD chateau. 


“ I am so feeble, Coralie, that sometimes I fear 
I shall not live to see my son ; this hope deferred 
is wearing out my life.^^ 

Father Paul says that letters frequently come 
to Father Sebastian, brought by a monk ; and the 
other day he overheard a conversation between the 
two, distinguishing the words Henri, St. Igna- 
tius and theCevennes; he thinks now that he has 
some clue to the locality, but he is waiting for 
further developments.’’ 

The priest seems much more lenient toward 
you, Coralie; perhaps he thinks thus to protect 
you from your brother’s heresy.” 

I wish I had my brother’s courage, mamma,” 
was the quick reply. 

You would not foTlow his example, Coralie ! 
Don’t tell me so, my daughter !” 

“Henri and I have often studied the Bible 
together, mamma, and we have prayed for light to 
know the truth.” 

“The ChurcYis all-sufficient, Coralie, to guide 
you. Don’t be led away by pride and self- 
conceit from the true fold. If I am to lose 
you both, I shall be a miserable mother in- 
deed.” 

“ Oh, mamma, if we could only all be free from 


CORALIE. 


239 


the meddlesome priest of this household, then we 
should be happy.” 

Don’t talk so, my daughter ; priests are or- 
dained by Heaven to guide our footsteps.” 

‘‘ But not to offer a sacrifice for our sins — not to 
stand between our souls and God.” 

How then would you approach him, my 
daughter ?” 

“ Coming in the name of the Great Mediator, 
we shall find aeceptance at the throne.” 

Yes, Coralie, I know, but how can we find 
access to the Saviour if the blessed Virgin and 
the holy saints do not intercede for us?” 

‘‘ The Bible says, mamma, that there is one 
Mediator between God and man — the man Christ 
Jesus.” 

The Bible, Coralie ! where did you get one ?” 

Brother Henri had one, and that has taught 
us the true Gospel, dear mamma.” 

Father Sebastian was fully aware that the 
poison of heresy was tainting Coralie also ; but 
to put her off her guard he had assumed a kind, 
lenient mode in dealing with the young girl. He 
had not the least idea of countenancing the 
heresy of another; he was merely using ^‘mo- 
lasses to catch flies.” 


240 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


‘‘ Good-morning, daughter,” said the priest 
one day, with one of his most winning smiles ; 
‘^do you know that I have just heard from your 
brother ?” 

From Henri, father ! oh, tell me where he is.” 

^^Not precisely from him, Coralie, but of him ; 
he is safe and under good care. Would you like 
to see him ?” 

“Like to see him, father!” clasping her hands 
together, while tears gushed from her eyes ; “ I 
would crawl on my hands and knees day and 
night for one glimpse of my darling brother.” 

“What would you say to paying him a visit?” 
and the priest smiled. 

“Say, can it be possible, father? Let me fly 
to mamma, and tell her; she wdll let me go, I 
know.” 

Coralie sought her mother’s room. 

“ Father Sebastian has heard of Henri, mam- 
ma,” said the excited girl ; “ he wants me to go 
and see him. Shall I, dear mamma?” 

Madame de Grammont was silent for a mo- 
ment from excess of feeling, and then replied, 

“ Go, Coralie, my daughter, and take with you 
a box of comforts, such as we are sure he needs.” 

“'Let me go over to the chMeau, mamma; I 


CORALIE. 


241 


I well know that they also would like to send 
something/’ 

A thrill of joy was awakened there*, too, by the 
knowledge that Henri was alive, and that soon 
the brother and sister might meet again. All 
contributed their gifts, and now the anxiety was 
to know how soon they would set out. * 

‘‘Do you know where he is, Coralie?” asked 
Antoinette. 

“ Not the smallest idea have I, but I would go 
anywhere to see my brother.” 

In a few days they were ready for the journey; 
so anxious was the mother for the interview that 
no misgiving crossed her mind. 

“ How long will you be gone, father ?” inquired 
the lady, 

“About two weeks; but do not be uneasy if 
we stay longer.” 

Coralie has turned back to bid her mother 
farewell a second time. 

“ I shall be very lonesome, darling. Hurry 
home, but tell Henri how I have longed for 
him — how my heart has bled under this long ab- 
sence ; and tell him, Coralie, to come — to come 
to his mother!” 

Coralie has stepped into the carriage, the door 
21 Q 


242 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


is closed and Betti ne is watching from an upper 
window — a smile upon her deceitful face. 

‘‘She is safe enough now/’ muttered the woman ; 
“she will soon be brought back again to the true 
Church. . May the blessed Virgin take care of 
her !” 

Madame de Luneville was on the piazza of the 
chateau as the carriage drove off. 

“I am uneasy, Eugenie,” said the old lady, 
“ for wherever that priest is meddling there is 
mischief.” 

“And so am I, mother,” was the reply. 

“You do not think that he means harm to 
Coralie?” said Guillaume, with a look of terror. 

“ I don’t know what 1 fear,” was the reply, 
“ but I have vague misgivings, for Father Sebas- 
tian is in that carriage.” 

The ride was through a lovely country for 
many miles — enough to say that it was Langue- 
doc. They were well provided with a large bas- 
ket of provisions, for there were no stopping- 
places on the mountain road. 

The priest was in one of his most genial moods, 
and Coralie was in high spirits, for was she not 
hastening to her brother? 

Gradually they left the plains and valleys, lost 


COEALIE. 


243 


sight of the farms and chateaux, and commenced 
the mountain ascent. This, too, Coralie enjoyed, 
for she had never been in the midst of such fea- 
tures of grandeur before. 

Farther and farther away from human habita- 
tions, day after day — sometimes through dense, 
untrodden forests, where there was scarcely a 
road discernible — then around the sides of steep 
mountains, in sight of deep ravines and musical 
cascades, occasionally passing a goatherd’s cabin ; 
they were hourly approaching the dreariness of 
a mountain solitude. At the close of a cloudy 
day the sombre walls of a monastery appeared in 
sight. 

Is that my brother’s home, father ?” inquired 
Coralie. 

It is, my daughter, and will be until he be- 
comes again a loyal son of the true Church.” 

‘‘That will never be, father,” said Coralie, 
sadly. 

“ We will see. But the holy Church does not 
look upon her wandering children with indiffer- 
ence ; they are hers, and she takes care of them.” 

They are at the gate now, and Coralie’s heart 
sank within her at the sight of the monk who 
answered the great bell. 


244 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


They were ushered into the parlor, and Henri 
de Grammont was summoned. 

Coralie scarcely recognized her once bright, 
animated brother in the pale, emaciated, feeble 
being who slowly entered the room. 

Coralie ! Henri ! dear, dear brother,’^ were 
all the words that passed as they stood folded in 
each other’s arms ; but Coralie’s head is drooping 
heavily upon Henri’s shoulder, for she has fainted 
from overwrought feeling. Placing her tenderly 
on a settee, a glass of water soon restores her 
to consciousness. 

Oh, Henri, how changed you are ! Where is 
your beautiful hair, brother, and your dear, bright 
face ?” 

The young man returned a sweet, sad smile to 
the question. 

“ What makes you so thin, so pale, so weak, 
Henri? You can scarcely walk. Have you been 
ill ?” 

Confinement and the discipline of a monas- 
tery, Coralie. Twelve months here wear away the 
flesh and drink up the spirits. But tell me, how 
is dear mamma ?” 

Very feeble, Henri, and very sad. Oh how 
she longs to see you once more ! She has sent you 


CORA LIE. 


245 


SO many nice things in the box that I brought; 
and so did Guillaume and Antoinette.” 

“ I shall never see them, Coral ie ; the priests 
will take care of that. You know, dear, that I 
am a prisoner here, an acolyte, under severe dis- 
cipline sometimes.” 

“ For what, Henri — how a prisoner?” 

For heresy, sister, and that is a fearful crime 
in the eyes of the Romish Church.” 

They were alone during this interview — so they 
supposed — but there are hiding-places in Romish 
monasteries, and Father Ambrose was within 
hearing. 

“ They have not hurt you, my darling brother,” 
said Coralie, clinging closer to Henri’s side. 

I do not get enough to eat, Coralie ; many a 
weary night have I watched on the stone floor of 
the chapel, and there are scars which I would not 
wish your eyes to see, my darjing.” 

Scars ! where, Henri ?” said the affrighted 

girl. 

“ All over my chest, Coralie, from the embraces 
of the Iron Virgin ; but I have been wonderfully 
strengthened, dear sister, and not for one moment 
tempted to recant.” 

Coralie was weeping bitterly now. 


246 


THE OLD chateau. 


How long is this to last, Henri 

Until I am reconciled to the Church of Rome, 
dear.^^ 

“ Then we shall never have you at St. Omars 
again. 

‘‘ I fear not, my precious sister ; but there is 
a world where there are no more partings ; and 
there we shall meet to dwell together for ever and 
ever ; that must be our comfort now.” 

I cannot bear to think of perpetual impris- 
onment for you, my brother, nor will I believe 
that our Father will refuse to hear our prayers ; 
he can make a way of escape; let us trust in 
him.” 

How are they all at the chateau, Coralie ? — the 
dear old lady, and the good count and countess?” 

“ All well, and send their warmest love.” 

Tell me about Guillaume, and Natalie, and 
Clarice.” 

They talk of you, dear brother, and every- 
thing that you ever gave them is hidden away 
among their choicest treasures ; but you say 
nothing of Antoinette.” 

‘‘I cannot talk of her, Coralie; it is too pain- 
ful. All I ask is. Does she speak of Henri?” 

‘‘ We never meet, brother, without talking of 


CORALIE. 


247 


you ; every pleasant or painful recollection of our 
childhood or our later days we go over and over 
again, and generally end in a flood of tears. An- 
toinette is hopeful still, for she has full confidence 
in Fa—’’ 

Henri’s finger is hastily pressed upon his lip, 
and a whispered Hush !” suppresses the remain- 
der of the name. 

How are the dogs, Coralie ?” 

They miss you still, brother, and often go up 
to your room whining and smelling about in 
every corner.” 

It is a strange place for a young female, for not 
one of her own sex is anywhere about the monas- 
tery; but she is much fatigued from her long 
journey, and Father Sebastian proposes to remain 
a day or two. 

A cell entirely removed from all others is ap- 
pointed for Coralie, and her meals are taken with 
her brother. 

Father Sebastian made good use of the time, 
for Coralie was shown all the arrangements of 
the monastery, the subterranean chamber, the in- 
struments of torture, and the various modes of 
promoting conversion. Her very soul was chilled 
at the sight, but it was not changed. 


248 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


• '‘They cannot have the heart to torture my- 
darling brother, father,’’ said Coralie, after one 
of these tours of inspection. 

“That depends upon himself entirely,” was 
the cool reply ; “ if he is obedient, none of these 
corrections will be applied ; but if still obstinate, 
we must leave him to the mercies of the holy 
Church. Let this knowledge act as a warning, 
my daughter ; for be assured that there are con- 
vents also for the refractory.” 

These words startled the listener, for never 
before had she suspected that she had been be- 
trayed. Now all appeared as clear as the sun- 
light. She had been enticed from home by the 
promise of a visit to her brother, only to be 
placed under similar restraints if she did not 
induce him to recant. She was wholly in the 
power of the priest, and whither should she fly ? 
The brother and sister had many hours of painful 
conference, for both now entertained the same 
fears, but they did not recant. 

“Be prayerful, be faithful, Coralie; let noth- 
ing tempt you to swerve one moment from the 
path of duty. There .are some things worse than 
death ; denial of our Lord and Master is one. Re- 
member, dear, that ‘ these light afflictions are but 


CORALIE. 


249 


for a moment, and work out for us a far more, ex- 
ceeding and eternal weight of glory.’ ” 

I am so timid, so fearful, so afraid of suffer- 
ing, Henri. Oh, pray for me, that my faith fail 
not.’' 

You feel afraid now. Coral ie, hut this is not 
the hour of trial; should that come, grace will 
come with it.” 

The hour of departure came at length. In the 
parlor of the monastery they met for the last 
time. Father Adrian being present. 

How fares the good cause, father ?” said the 
Superior. 

‘‘ France will be converted, I doubt not,” was 
the reply of Father Sebastian; ^Hhere is energy 
in the government, and the Grand Monarch is 
fast coming up to the measure of his responsi- 
bility. With P^re la Chaise on one side and 
madame on the other he is obliged to act rapidly. 
He is bent now upon entire submission or utter 
extermination ; the rack is a wondrous proselyter, 
and in some provinces the work of conversion 
goes on rapidly.” 

I trust that our wandering children here will 
be warned in time,” replied the Superior. 

‘‘The carriage is ready, Coralie,” said the 


250 THE OLD CHATEAU. 

priest, make your farewell short, for we must 
be gone.’’ 

One long, agonizing embrace, one fond parting 
kiss, and Coralie gave her hand to the priest, for 
she was unable to stand alone. 

Be good, be true to my sister. Father Sebas- 
tian,” said the brother, as you hope for heaven ; 
but if you harm her, remember what is said in 
holy writ ; 

Whoso shall offend one of these little ones 
which believe in me, it were better for him that a 
millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he 
were drowned in the depth of the seaJ ” 

Do not quote holy writ to me, boy !” was the 
reply. 

In another minute Coralie was seated in the 
carriage with Father Sebastian. The heavy gates 
of the monastery creaked upon their hinges, and 
the sister felt that she had left her brother for 
ever in the hands of cruel tormentors. 

The carriage was in motion, and agonized Co- 
ralie turned a glance of entreaty upon the priest, 
as she said. 

Whither are we going. Father Sebastian? 
Tell me truly.” 

‘‘Are we not going the way that we came, and 


CORALIE. 


251 


must not that be homeward ? Be quiet, foolish 

child.’’ 

For some days the points in the landscape ap- 
peared familiar, and but few words passed between 
the two travelers. But now Coralie is losing 
the resemblance, for they are in sight of a broad, 
winding river, their road sometimes between thick 
woods, then through a pretty village, to come out 
again upon a hilly country. 

Do not deceive me any longer, father ; this is 
not the road by which we came.” 

But may we not reach St. Omars by another 
route ?” 

'‘Are we going to my mother? Tell me, oh 
tell me. Father Sebastian ; if you have betrayed 
me, you will break her heart.” 

" We shall soon be at our stopping-place,' Co- 
ralie; a very pleasant home, where you will re- 
main for a while with the society of refined and 
devout ladies, who will lead you back again to 
the arms of your true mother, the holy Church.” 

"Then you have deceived me, father? Oh, 
mamma, mamma! To be robbed of both your 
children is too much sorrow.” 

"Your mother is too yielding and indulgent 
to bring up refractory children, and therefore I 


252 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


have placed you both beyond the reach of 
heresy.^^ 

Coralie threw herself upon her knees before 
the priest : 

‘‘Take me back, father. For the love of 
heaven, have pity upon my desolate mother 

“Nothing will harm you, Coralie, if you will 
only be obedient; but we do not intend that St. 
Omars shall pass into the hands of the Hugue- 
nots.'^ 

“And this, then, is your zeal for our salvation, 
father? It is well to know the truth." 

“Be silent, impertinent heretic, or beware of 
consequences !" 

They passed through a thick forest, and the 
walls of a dark stone building appeared. 

“ This is your present home, my daughter,” 
said the Jesuit, as they drove up to the large 
gate. 

“A convent, father! Am I also to be im- 
prisoned ?” 

“You may think yourself honored in having 
such associates, Coralie, for this is a society of 
holy women devoted entirely to Heaven.” 

“Have mercy, father — have mercy on my 
mother !” 



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Old Chateau 


Taken to the Convent 


Page 253 


CORA LIE. 


253 


I will take good care of her, my daughter, 
aud the best care of her children also.’’ 

The porteress here opened the gate — a harsh- 
looking woman, dressed in a heavy robe of black 
£erge, who conducted them into the parlor of the 
convent. The lady abbess was still a handsome 
woman, with an imposing carriage, a voice soft 
to-day as a dove, and a manner calculated to win 
a young and ingenuous heart. 

Taking Coralie’s hand, she said, with a bland 
smile. 

This is a charming young lady, father. You 
are welcome, my daughter, to our community; 
you will find several young novices, who will be 
your companions.” 

I am not a willing inmate, mother. Surely 
you would not detain me against my will ?” 

You will soon become accustomed to. the 
heavenly ways of your holy mother, my daughter, 
and will not wish to leave us.” 

“Not while my own mother languishes on a 
sick bed, weeping for her children.” 

The abbess rang a small bell, and Sister Pau- 
line answered the Superior’s call. 

“ Conduct this young lady to her room” (avoid- 
ing the name of cell) ; “ she must be tired after her 

22 


254 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


long journey Take her some refreshment, and, 
if she desires it when slie is rested, let her join 
the novices at their work.^’ 

Sister Pauline was well chosen to make first 
impressions. With a fair complexion, deep blue 
eyes, the refined manners of a lady, and a low, 
musical voice, she was a great favorite among the 
novices ; she was the teacher of embroidery. 
Opening the door of her cell, she followed Co- 
ralie, and handing her a chair, said kindly, 

Let me help you to disrobe, my daughter.” 

Tenderly removing her traveling costume, she 
brought a basin of cool water with which to re- 
fresh herself; and then with her own gentle 
hands took down her luxuriant hair. 

“ This is very beautiful,” said the nun, with a 
sigh, for she was thinking of the day when the 
scissors would remove the whole of that womanly 
ornament. 

It had not been combed for several days, and 
softly the nun untangled and dressed the massy 
locks, soothing by her light fingers and musical 
voice the agitated nerves of the girl. 

“Now, here is some refreshment,” said Sister 
Pauline, as she spread a pure linen cloth upon a 
small table, and then set down the tray. This 


COPwALIE. 


255 


was indeed a grateful ministry to .Coralie, for, 
worn-out and heart-sore, this womanly tenderuess 
was just what she craved. 

Shall I get your night-dress,^’ said the nun, 
‘‘ for you need a long rest, and should retire at 
once ?” 

“ It is at the top of my trunk, sister,” was the 
reply, handing her the key. 

She was soon attired for the night ; and the 
nun, folding down the bed-clothes, kissed the pale, 
tearful cheek, and said, 

“May the holy Virgin watch over you, my 
daughter, and bring you back to her loving 
bosom ! Good-night !” 

“Good-night, sister Pauline; you are very 
kind.” 

Coralie wondered if all the nuns were like this 
one, for she was sure that she should soon learn 
to love her. 

Committing herself to her blessed Saviour, 
Coralie sought her bed. Sweet and refreshing 
was the slumber of that night, and by five o’clock 
a soft knock was heard at the door of the cell. 

“Come in,” said Coralie; and in a moment 
Sister Pauline presented herself. 

“ I hope that you have slept well, my daugh- 


256 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


ter/’ was the first salutation ; “ but it is time to 
arise now. Mother Beatrice desires that you 
should begin the day with obedience ; at six 
o’clock the matin-bell will ring ; at twelve, the 
hour for nones, and at six for vespers; at twelve 
there is a midnight mass, but for attendance upon 
that there is sometimes granted a dispensation.” 

“ I must be truthful. Sister Pauline ; I know 
that I shall be obliged to be present at the ser- 
vices, but not to pray to the Virgin, nor to the 
saints — not to join in the service of the mass, but 
to worship my Saviour, I hope in spirit and in 
truth.” 

“ May the holy saints preserve us, daughter ! 
Surely you are not an apostate from the Church !” 

“ My heart is with the Beformed faith. Sister 
Pauline.” 

“Then Heaven defend you, poor child, from 
what must follow if you continue obstinate !” 

“ You would not join my persecutors, sister 
— you with such a loving, gentle spirit ?” 

Large tears stood in the nun’s deep-blue eyes, 
for her heart was drawn to the weary sufferer, 
but the shackles of the Church were on her con- 
science, its icy hand even upon her tender woman’s 
heart, and she replied. 


CORALTE. 


257 


I dare not disobey the Church, my daughter, 
for I am sworn to unreserved obedience ; the will, 
the heart, the understanding are in her keeping ; 
they are no longer mine; they are hers. A true 
nun is dead to self, dead to all but the authority 
of the Church; disobedience, then, to her is mor- 
tal sin.’^ 

What is contemplated. Sister Pauline, in my 

case 

Do you not know, my daughter ?” 

I presume that I am to be under convent 
discipline until I promise obedience to the 
Church.’' 

“ I presume so ; and to make that doubly sure, 
Father Sebastian has directed that at the end of 
a month you enter upon your novitiate.” 

“ Can such perfidy as his be justified, sister?” 

‘ The end sanctifies the means.’ If your sal- 
vation depends upon restoration to the Church 
that you have forsaken, then any mode by which 
that end is attained is pronounced holy. But do 
not distress yourself; a month may work great 
changes in your determination.” 

The nun closed the door, and not long after the 
bell for matins sounded. 

Coralie’s mind was calm and trusting, for she 

22 * R 


258 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


had committed herself to tlie guidance of the 
blessed Spirit, and duty for that day at least 
was plain. She passed the basin of holy water, 
omitted the sign of the cross, refused to adore the 
host, and during all that matin service approached 
her Father in heaven through the One Mediator, 
the man Christ Jesus. 

This was open rebellion indeed, and Sister 
Pauline trembled for the dear young creature. 

After breakfast in the refectory the bell sum- 
moned the novices to their daily employment, 
and Sister Pauline called to give Coralie her 
directions. It was not policy to notice her dis- 
obedience now ; therefore she was still allowed the 
freedom of the convent. 

Father Sebastian returned to St. Omars, but 
even the agony of the bereaved mother did not 
move the stolid priest, who had long since buried 
his will, his affections, his understanding — all in 
the cold grave of Jesuitism. 

“ Be satisfied, my daughter; your children arc 
beyond the reach of heresy, the most deadly of 
all crimes.^^ 

And this was all that he had to say to the 
heartbroken mother robbed of her children. 



CHAPTER XVII. 

THE NOVITIATE. 

OR the month of trial Coral ie was under 
velvet-glove treatment, and we will join 
her in her first introduction to the room 
of the novices. 

Under the care of Sister Pauline are ten young 
ladies preparing to take the veil. In this period 
of their novitiate they are allowed many freedoms 
renounced at the time of their profession. Co- 
ralie therefore found herself seated among a com- 
pany of young girls, busily employed in working 
altar-cloths and robes for the priests of a neigh- 
boring monastery, and chatting away in that kind 
of unmeaning gossip so common among inferior 
minds. 

A few are here from choice, some from con- 
straint, and some, destitute of worldly friends, 
have sought refuge in the convent. Five of 

269 




260 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


these are preparing to take the black veil, and 
the remainder are in the first period of their 
novitiate. 

Coral ie has a priest’s robe to embroider, and 
finds herself seated near a young lady named 
Jaqueline, who appears quite charmed with her 
new companion, for Coralie is very attractive. 
They are in a corner by themselves, and have, 
therefore, an opportunity to converse together. 

^‘How long have you been here?” inquired 
Coralie. 

About two years,” was the reply. 

Do you like convent life?” 

About as well as any other, for I have no 
home, no relations in this wide world ; and I 
came here to find a home.” 

‘‘ Does it not seem dreary to be shut up here 
all the days of your life?” 

It did at first, but after I became well ac- 
quainted with the young ladies I did not feel so 
lonely.” 

‘^But it will be very different when you are a 
cloistered nun, Jaqueline. All your cheerful pur- 
suits must be given up then, and your whole life 
become one monotonous round of services, with a 
goodly share of fasts and penances.” 


THE NOVITIATE. 


261 


Yes, I know that, but still it is better than a 
life all alone in Paris.’^ 

I cannot see that, Jaqueline; could you not 
find some means of support in that great city ?” 

“ Perhaps, Coralie ; but you never lived in 
Paris, and cannot know the dreadful snares every- 
where around the footsteps of a young and unpro- 
tected girl. I could tell you some sad stories if 
I would. I’m better here.” 

There was another of the circle that interested 
Coralie deeply. Pale, sad, with large, melan- 
choly eyes and such a constant look of dreary 
hopelessness — always alone, for no one seemed to 
notice her — indeed, she appeared to desire sepa- 
ration from the rest, 

“Who is that young creature?” asked Coralie, 
pointing to the silent figure that, in a corner of 
the room, was patiently employed at her em- 
broidery. 

“ That is Marguerite de Lamotte, a member 
of a noble family, but in danger of becoming a 
heretic. She was placed here ; she held out for 
a long time, but, subdued at length by long fast- 
ing and severe penances, she is resigned to her 
fate now. I tell you, Coralie, it is not many 
whose faith could endure the severity of Sister 


262 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Veronica; I hope that you may never full into 
her hands.’’ 

“ Who is Sister Veronica ? have I seen her, 
Jaqueline?” 

“ You meet her daily, Coral ie, but few ever get 
a glimpse of her face, for she does not like to be 
looked at ; and if you should really meet one 
glance from her stony eyes, you would never want 
another.” 

‘‘What is her especial business, Jaqueline?” 

“ She has charge of the refractory, my pet, and 
I never heard of but one that she did not subdue ; 
she has been here thirty years, and long ago 
buried her human heart in the tomb of this 
convent.” 

“What became of that one, Jaqueline?” 

“They tell a dreadful tale of that poor girl. 
Coral ie. Would you like to hear it?” 

“ I had better know the worst, Jaqueline ; go 
on with the story.” 

“ Cecelia de Bosanquet was brought here when 
she was'about twenty years of age ; she was a great 
heiress and of a noble family. Being alone in 
the world. Father Jerome was her guardian. She 
became attached to a Huguenot officer, and finally 
with her whole heart embraced his heresy. The 


THE NOVITIATE. 


263 


priest put an end to all that, brought her to this 
convent, and placed her at once under the care of 
Sister Veronica. Every means was tried to make 
her abjure her new faith ; she was imprisoned, 
starved, tortured, for months, until she was worn 
to a skeleton ; but the foolish girl remained 
obstinate still. Finally, she disappeared. There 
was no funeral; and Sister Ursula — more talk- 
ative than the rest — said that in the dark, slimy 
cell where she was confined there was a trap 
door leading down to unfathomed depths ; and 
she had heard Sister Veronica say one day that 
that obstinate heretic would have to follow Marie 
d^Arcy ; and we well knew that she was obliged 
to walk over that dreadful trap, which was so 
arranged as to open beneath the unwary feet.’’ 

Horrible, Jaqueline !” said the terror-stricken 
listener; ‘^can such iniquity be possible? Can 
you believe such diabolical treatment right?” 

Jaqueline shrugged her shoulders and re2)lied, 

Sister Pauline says that a Roman Catholic is 
the property of the Church, soul and body; that 
she is absolutely infallible; and that our holy 
Mother has a right to use what discipline she 
pleases with her own children.” 

Coralie was very silent throughout that day, 


264 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


and in the solitude of lier cell endured a night 
of agony wrestling with the tempter. It was her 
hour of darkness. The Saviour seemed to have 
forsaken her, and evil spirits plied her weak wo- 
man's heart with sore temptations. 

“Ami indeed called upon to endure all this, 
this death of horror ? Can I not serve God in 
the Romish Church ? I have light enough to 
know that saints cannot intercede for me. Can- 
not I worship the Saviour in spirit and in truth 
even in the walls of a Romish church ? If I re- 
turn, what joy it would give my precious mother! 
perhaps it might prolong her life many years. 
But then, how can I go to confession ? I can never 
confess to mortal man again. How can I re- 
ceive the mass ? I can never believe in that 
idolatry. How can I give up my blessed Bible ? 
O Jesus, who agonized in Gethsemane, have 
mercy, have mercy on me 

Prostrate on her knees, her hands wrung in 
agony, her eyes streaming with scalding tears, 
she continued an hour wrestling in prayer for 
strength, for light. 

When did such supplication ever fail to bring 
relief? Who can say that angels did not min- 
ister to that weary, tempted spirit in the sweet 


THE NOVITIATE. 265 

and holy calm that followed this season of an- 
guish ? 

The tempting visions of ease and security in 
her dear home in Languedoc faded. Looking 
forward upon the stern realities that soon might 
cast their shadows upon her pilgrim-path, she 
folded her hands in peace, assured that Jesus 
would not forsake her in her hour of trial. 
Wearied with her vigil, she was soon at rest in a 
deep slumber, for so He giveth his beloved 
sleep.’^ 

Next morning, as Coralie joined the novices at 
their work, she was conscious of a glance of in- 
quiry passing over every face as they exchanged 
morning salutations. Sister Pauline, especially, 
looked twice earnestly at the young girl, for there 
was a tender serenity on Coralie’s. face that told 
of a deeper baptism of spiritual life ; there was a 
sweetness, too, in the low musical tones of her 
voice that vibrated from chords in harmony with 
the blessed ones who had ministered to her in 
her lonely cell. Almost unconsciously she felt 
drawn to Marguerite, who sat in a corner apart 
from all the rest. 

Shall I sit near you, to-day said Coralie, 

kindly. 

23 


266 


THE OLD chateau. 


The young girl raised her melancholy eyes to 
the speaker’s face, and with a sweet, sad smile 
replied. 

You are very good, mademoiselle, for no one 
cares to keep my company.” 

Why not, Marguerite? 1 am sure that it 
will give me pleasure.” 

“Perhaps you don’t know that I was a here- 
tic,” she replied, with a timid, shrinking glance. 

“ What would you say if I should tell you that 
I too am of the Reformed faith ?” 

A strange look of mingled pleasure and sorrow 
passed over her face at these words . 

“ It would have made me happy once, made- 
moiselle, but now that I know what heresy brings 
upon its followers, I can feel naught but sorrow. 
But how came you here ?” 

“ By treachery, INIarguerite, but nothing can 
shake my resolution.” 

“ I thought so once, for I had learned to believe 
that the doctrines of the Church of Rome were 
not taught in the Bible. I came here resolved 
to be faithful to my new convictions. At first. 
Sister Pauline undertook my case, and I was 
treated as you are now. She had no effect upon 
me; I remained firm. Then I was put under 


THE ]S0 VITIATE. 


267 


the care of Sister Veronica. She is a Jesuit with- 
out a heart — a blind, hardened fanatic. Starva- 
tion, midnight vigils barefooted on the cold mar- 
ble floor, sitting for hours at a time under the 
drippings of ice-cold water, falling steadily on 
one spot on my head. These were agonies, made- 
moiselle, and, persevered in for months, they 
were near destroying my life. At length a sight 
of the horrible trap-door, down which poor vic- 
tims hiid been dropped into a horrible death, 
broke down my last fortress of resistance and I 
was obliged to yield, for I had not the courage to 
endure such a death. 

What a terrible ordeal, Marguerite ! Are 
you really a Romanist now 

How can I be after having read the Bible ? 
But a nun I must be; there is no other resource. 
God knows my temptations ; he knows my weak- 
ness ; he may have mercy upon me.’’ 

Coralie could wonder«.no more that such a look 
of hopeless misery should rest upon the face of 
Marguerite. 

Coralie’s month of probation was drawing to 
its close. It was now the last day, and in the 
evening she was sent for to the parlor of the con- 
vent. The lady abbess met Coralie with a very 


268 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


different aspect from that worn on the day of her 
first introduction. 

‘‘Stand there said the abbess, in tones of 
severity, for the voice of the dove had disap- 
peared. “ You have been now for one month on 
probation, treated with a kindness that you do 
not deserve, for you are guilty of the greatest 
crime that a member of the true Church can com- 
mit — that of apostasy.^^ 

Coralie raised her eyes for one moment, and 
could scarcely realize that the stern, forbidding 
face could be the same that, dressed in smiles, 
had met her one month before. 

“Are you ready to abjure your heresy, Coralie 
de Grammont, and return to the arms of your 
true Mother 

“ I have undergone no change since the day of 
my entrance, mother. I can never more be a 
Romanist. God will not forsake me in the hour 
of my dire extremity.^’ « 

“You have chosen your own lot, obstinate 
heretic.’’ 

An aged nun entered. One glance was enough 
to tell Coralie that she was in the presence of 
Sister Veronica, for the stony, gray eyes and the 
rigid lips looked as though no human sympathies 


THE NOVITIATE. 


269 


had ever moved the features of that corpse-like, 
marble face. 

^^This heretic is obstinate still, Sister Veron- 
ica,’^ said the abbess ; place her in the cell of 
penitence ; she is entirely under your care now.” 

Coralie followed the nun through the long cor- 
ridor — past the cells of the novices, past those of 
the nuns, down a flight of steps into a gloomy 
chamber, where scarce one ray of light ever pene- 
trated. 

Damp and dark, the slimy pavement was slip- 
pery beneath her feet, and the odors of the un- 
wholesome place were oppressive and offensive. 
In one corner was an iron bedstead, a small table 
and a stone pitcher, and here the gentle Coralie 
de Grammont was immured. 

This is your home, heretic,” said the nun, 

until you are disposed to render obedience to 
the Church that you have disgraced.” 

God will help me. Sister Veronica,” was the 
meek reply. 

The door closed upon the prisoner, and Coralie 
lay down upon her hard mattress to seek repose. 
Something cold and slimy was crawling upon her 
hand ; at first she was disposed to scream, fearing 
a snake ; but finding at length that it was a harm- 


270 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


less lizard, she tried to be composed. She had 
no light now, and therefore no means of reading 
her precious treasure, which she kept concealed in 
a small case beneath her clothing. But she had 
committed large jiortions of Scripture to memory, 
and in her lonely cell unspeakable was the com- 
fort of this heavenly manna. 

Visited daily by the little lizard, Coralie con- 
ceived the idea of training it, and each day gave a 
small portion of her scanty fare to the animal. 
On sunny days a faint ray found its way through 
the narrow cleft in the top of her dreary cell, 
and her pet could crawl upon her hand and take 
food from it without any fear. At any other 
time it would have been oflPensive ; now the so- 
ciety even of this little reptile was welcome, for it 
was one of her Father’s creatures. Coralie’s health 
and strength were giving way under the close 
confinement, unwholesome air and stinted fare 
of her cell. 

It was not the design of her persecutors to 
terminate her existence ; therefore Sister Veronica 
ordered that twice a week she should pass the 
night in the chapel ; compared with her prison, 
this was a relief. 

She was generally brought into the midnight 


THE NOVITIATE. 


271 


mass, but none were allowed to speak to one 
under the anathema of the Church. But one 
night, when kneeling upon the stone steps of the 
altar, she thought that she heard a distant foot- 
step. Turning round, she perceived the figure 
of a nun coming silently up the aisle; as she 
drew near, the kind voice of Sister Pauline ad- 
dressed her : 

Coral ie, my poor child ! are you obstinate 
still? Are you so bent upon your destruction? 
I cannot give you up without another warning.’^ 

You are very good, sister, but my course is 
plain ; I cannot sacrifice my conscience.’^ 

‘‘ Do you know what is before you, my 
child V’ 

Yes, sister; I know all about the trap door 
and the tortures of the chamber of penitence; 
but I cannot retract.” 

I have to run great risk to warn you. Co- 
ral ie; I have sinned against the holy Church, 
and must endure a severe penance, for I shall 
make full confession; but farewell, Coralie; you 
will never escape from Sister Veronica.” 

^‘Farewell, Sister Pauline; I thank you for 
your kindness, but I must march on, and God 
will help me.” 


V 


272 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The next week Sister Veronica entered the cell 
with a lantern in her hand. 

Are you obstinate still, foolish heretic she 
said. 

What would you have me do, sister?^’ 

Return to the arms of the true Church ; re- 
nounce your heresies ; comfort your dying mo- 
ther ; go back to your sweet home in Languedoc 
and to the friends who love you.” 

‘^That is an inviting picture, Sister Veronica, 
wringing my very heart-strings to renounce ; but 
I have no choice; I cannot stifle my conscience.” 

Then follow me.” 

And taking up the lantern, the nun passed out 
Coral ie treading in her footsteps. 

Along a dark passage, down steep. stone steps, 
Coralie found herself in a large subterranean 
room. Around were many objects which she did 
not understand, but which she supposed to be in- 
struments of torture. 

The nun stepped forward, and opening the 
trap door, bade Coralie look down, while she 
held the lantern so as faintly to light its black 
depths. 

“AVhat do you see, foul heretic?” asked the 


nun. 


THE NOVITIATE. 


273 


think I see something white lying in a 
heap at the bottom.’’ 

“You are right; that is the clothing of a 
heretic obstinate as yourself, Coralie de Gram- 
rnont. Would you like such a plunge?” 

“ Human flesh would never choose such a 
lot, Sister Veronica; but if forced upon me, it 
would be a short agony, and then the everlast- 
ing rest.” 

And Coralie raised her lovely eyes to heaven 
with such a glance as must have passed upon the 
face of Stephen, “ as he looked steadfastly into 
heaven, and saw the glory of God, and Jesus 
standing on the right hand of God.” 

Coralie was taken back to her cell. Left once 
more alone, with none but her Saviour to comfort 
her, abundant were those consolations in the hour 
of her deep adversity. 

With her eyes closed she would lie for hours 
thinking of her fair home in Languedoc, of her 
happy childhood, her brighter youth ; of her pre- 
cious mother, her darling brother; of the happy 
days at the old chateau ; of Guillaume and An- 
toinette, and Natalie and sweet, sparkling Clarice ; 
of the dear count and countess, and the venerable 
old lady who loved her and Henri so well, 
s 


274 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Then would come the songs of her })et birds, 
the joyful bark of her dog, Fidele. Then the 
perfume of the orange groves and the sweet 
Provence roses would open the flood-gates of feel- 
ing as the yearning heart sighed for those dear, 
familiar objects. ^ 

might have them all again, said Coralie — 
be pressed to my mother’s bosom, clasp hands 
again with Guillaume and Antoinette, play with 
Natalie and Clarice as in days gone by, and be 
surrounded again by all the dear friends at the 
old chateau ; I might revel once more in the per- 
fumed air of Languedoc, join in the vintage-dance 
on the green sward, canter on my beautiful Arab 
along the lanes of my sweet home and gather 
lovely flowers from the Vale of Roses. Ah me! 
I cannot pay the price of all this happiness, for it 
could not be peace for me should I violate my 
conscience and deny my Lord.’^ 

Coralie’s was a heaven-inspired faith. It had 
laid hold upon the things that are invisible with 
a grasp that nothing earthly or devilish could 
loosen, and Coralie sang in this lonely cell with 
exulting faith ; 

“And now we fight the battle, 

But then shall wear the crown 


THE KOVITIATE. 

Of full and everlasting 
And passionless renown. 

“ The morning shall awaken, 

The shadows pass away, 

And each true-hearted servant 
Shall shine as doth the day.” 


275 



CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 

EARY days, even weeks, rolled on, and 
still no tidings of the lost ones came to 
St. Omars. Madame de Grammont is 
drooping daily, heart-sick from the long 
suspense. 

At length the priest returned without Coralie. 

You need not tell what you have done with 
my daughter. Father Sebastian, for I know all. 
Robbed of both my children, I am a heartbroken 
woman, and will hail the hour of release from my 
weary pilgrimage.^^ 

^^Your children are safe, madame,” said the 
priest, beyond the reach of heresy. When they 
are cured of their folly they will return to St. 
Omars.’^ 

But suppose that they are not cured — what 
then, father?” 

“ The Church does not reveal her secrets, 

276 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


277 


matlame;’’ and with these words he left the 
room. 

With her face buried in the pillows, the heart- 
stricken mother wept long and bitterly, uncon- 
scious of the entrance of the countess until she 
pressed a soft kiss upon the pale, thin hand lying 
upon the counterpane. 

“ Is that you, dear Eugenie said the invalid, 
uncovering her face. 

I heard of your fresh trouble, Agnace, and 
have come to comfort you. I am not despairing, 
dear cousin, for Father Paul has fresh hopes.” 

“What has he heard, Eugenie? I would give 
my fortune to have my children once mcwe.” 

“ He has observed letters which he is sure 
come from a monastery, for they are brought by 
a monk, and yesterday overheard a conversation 
between Father Sebastian and Father Gabriel. 
They were seated on a low settee outside of his 
window in the garden, in very earnest conversa- 
tion ; he heard a great deal of disjointed talk, but 
could not connect the whole. But Henri’s and 
Coralie’s names were mentioned frequently — ^St. 
Omars,’ ^ great wealth,’ ^ monastery,’ ‘ Cevennes,’ 
^convent.’ He gathered enough, Agnace, to be- 
lieve that Henri is in a monastery on the Ce- 
24 


278 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


venues, and Coralie somewhere in a convent. 
He is ready and anxious to set out on his pil- 
grimage.^’ 

Send him to me, Eugenie, early to-morrow 
morning ; I will furnish him with money — any- 
thing to see my darling children once more.” 

The mother spent a weary night tossing on a 
restless bed and wetting her pillow with tears.’ 
From early dawn she counted the weary hours 
until Father Paul might be expected. At length 
the good priest was at her bedside. 

Heaven bless you. Father Paul,” said tlie 
mother, ^^and speed you on your journey. But 
what do you propose?” 

It is very common in the Pomish Church, 
with staff and scrip in hand, to go on pilgrim- 
ages, and it is counted quite an act of piety to 
make such a journey on foot, taking monasteries 
and convents in the way. This is what I pro- 
pose. I take with me two dresses as disguises, 
for I shall bring your children home again. I 
know where there are the most secluded and severe 
of all the monasteries, and will start for those on 
the Cevennes.” 

You will want money. Father Paul ; there is 
my purse; it contains fifty louisd’ors. May God 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


279 


speed you on your journey ! But when do you set 

outr 

“ To-morrow morning, by diiy-break. Fare- 
well, madame.’’ 

In another minute Father Paul had vanished. 
In the evening we find him at the chtoau, con- 
fiding his secret to the family. Meeting with the 
household in the subterranean chapel. Father 
Paul was comforted by the earnest prayers of the 
good pastor and the warm-hearted God-speed of 
the young people. His departure caused no par- 
ticular surmises among the priests, for these pil- 
grimages were common in the community. The 
only remark was one made by Father Gabriel, 
who said, with a sneer, “ Father Paul must have a 
sudden fit of devotion,’^ for all the priests had 
frequently jeered at what they deemed his laxity. 

Father Paul had been studying the Bible very 
much lately, and felt* like the Israelites in the 
wilderness. He wondered whether the fiery pil- 
lar would go before him in his wanderings as, by 
the early dawn, with staff in hand and scrip on 
his back, he set out upon his pilgrimage. 

He was an old man, and by the middle of the 
day began to feel very weary. Sitting down by 
the roadside, under the shade of a large tree, he 


280 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


refreshed himself with some of his provisions, and 
was very grateful when offered a seat in a wagon 
on the way to the next liamlet. When told his 
pious errand the driver offered him a bed for the 
night, and the old man joyfully accepted the 
offer. He made many inquiries about the moun- 
tains, and found that there were three or four 
monasteries scattered through the solitudes. 

After traveling several days on foot, resting at 
night in some peasant's cottage. Father Paul was 
much worn out; and on reaching the foot of the 
mountains hired a mule at a goatherd’s cottage, 
promising to bring him back on his return. 

The man gave him some directions how to 
reach the monastery of St. Boniface. Obeying 
his directions, he commenced the ascent by a 
path that wound around the mountain, pass- 
ing small cottages kept by goatherds and shep- 
herds who tended their flocks upon the mountain 
slopes. After the travel of the first day, human 
habitations became scarce, and the journey of the 
third day lay through wild and rugged scenery, 
through thick, unbroken forests, and among the 
crags and cliffs of the solitude. 

Toward the evening of the third day the walls 
of St. Boniface appeared in sight, anc] wearied 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


281 


with his long journey, Father Paul asked admit- 
tance at the gate. 

Come in, thou blessed one said the Su- 
perior; yours is a pious pilgrimage. We are 
glad to entertain so holy a man.” 

Father Paul attended vespers and matins, and 
satisfied himself that Henri was not there. After 
resting another day he inquired the way to the 
next monastery. 

Directed to St. Augustine’s, he started once 
more, and reaching it on the second day, another 
halt and another look of inquiry satisfied him 
that he must search still farther for his friend; 
and after a journey of three more days, we find 
him at St. Ignatius’. 

He was w^armly received by the Superior, for 
it had been a long while since any priest had un- 
dertaken a pilgrimage to this distant monastery 
up these rugged mountain heights. 

After receiving refreshment and the washing 
of his feet by two priests, he obeyed the call to 
vespers. Among the priests — or rather apart 
from them — he perceived a poor, emaciated being 
in the coarse dress of a penitent, wfith pictures of 
little demons on his breast and back, while a cap 
similarly decorated covered his head. 

24 * 


282 


THE OLD CIIItEAU. 


One glance at the pallid face was enough. It 
was Henri de Grammont, the object of his search. 
But so changed ! Yet there rested upon the 
noble face, so worn and marred by suffering, a 
look of such meek and lofty patience that Father 
Paul covered his face a moment to wipe away 
unbidden tears. 

He was not far from the youth, who, perceiv’’- 
ing a stranger among them, turned once, but 
Father Paul averted his face, for he did not 
desire recognition. 

There was a look of deep devotion upon 
Henri’s face during the chanting of the vesper 
hymn, for the low, sweet music carried his spirit 
not upward to the holy Virgin, but to the Master 
whom he so devoutly adored. 

Keeping his eye fixed upon the penitent. 
Father Paul followed him quietly to the door of 
his cell; marking it, he walked up and down the 
great corridor until all was silent, and then, 
knocking at the door, he found that it was locked, 
and the voice within called out. 

Who is there ?” 

friend,” was the low reply. ‘^Can I come 

in?” 

“ The door is locked on the outside.” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


283 


The priest was prepared for just such an emer- 
gency, and had brought a number of keys and a 
pick; among them he found one that unlocked 
the door. Opening it slowly and then locking it 
again within, *he advanced to the astonished in- 
mate of the cell. 

“Father Paul! Is it indeed you? Blessed 
be God 

“ God be praised, Henri, that I have found you 
at last 1^’ 

And then the priest related the toilsome search 
he had undertaken, and in return Henri told the 
story of his sufferings. 

“ You are not to stay here, my son ; I came 
for your deliverance.” 

“ It is a fearful risk, father, for the eyes of the 
priests are everywhere.” 

“You mention the midnight vigil; when do 
you watch again ?” 

“To-morrow night, father.” 

“ That must be the time of escape.” 

“ May God prosper our undertaking, father, 
for I could not live much longer here I” 

It was the midnight hour, and the priests 
were assembled at the mass. Father Paul 
marched slowly out with the priests. Henri 


284 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


was left alone to . watch through the dreary 
night. 

In about an hour Father Paul returned : 

Now, Henri, be brave, be quiet ; let us trust 
jn God, and he will work your deliverance. I 
have been busy these few days in examining doors, 
and making ready and think that we are safe.” 

Stealing quietly along the passage from the 
chapel, Henri started back, for he was sure that 
he perceived a figure moving at the end of the 
corridor; he could not see distinctly, for there 
was but one dim light, but he said, in a low tone, 

“ Stop, Father Paul ! there is something mov- 
ing there.” 

Don’t be alarmed, Henri, it is only a dog.” 

Hurrying on, they passed the animal safely, 
for he knew Henri as one of the household. 

At the end of this long passage there was a 
small door opening on the staircase which led up 
to the choir. 

Which way, father?” 

Be quiet, Henri — follow me.” 

Trying his keys, he found that not one would 
lit. Taking out a small flask of oil, he poured it 
into the lock, and softly using his pick, succeeded 
in opening the door, but not without some noise, 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


285 


and Henri’s heart beat loud and quick, for they 
were not far from the porter’s cell. 

Mounting the stairs, they were suddenly 
stopped by the vibrations of the large clock, 
about to strike one. When all was quiet again 
they continued their flight. 

Do you see that small window ?” said the 
priest. 

“The one by the organ, father?” 

“ The same, Henri ; we must escape by 
that.” 

“ It is very small, father, and it is always fast- 
ened. Can we possibly get through ?” 

“ I have measured it ; desperate straits require 
desperate efforts, Henri.” 

“ Which way when we are out ?” 

“ The roof is flat around the turret which con- 
tains the bell, and a few determined steps will 
land us there in safety.” 

Just then Henri was terribly alarmed by the 
striking of something against the window. 

“ What is that, father ?” inquired the youth. 

“Nothing but a bat, my son. We are in the 
hands of God ; let us keep our hearts stayed on 
him. Now is the time; mount the ladder and 
get out upon the roof.” 


286 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


A few firm, quiet attacks upon the fastenings 
with sharp tools soon unclosed the window, and it 
was opened. 

Now, Henri, be quick V’ said the priest. 

Henri obeyed, and was followed by Father 
Paul. They were both upon the roof. 

“ Which way next, father 

Leading Henri to the edge of the roof, he 
said, 

“ We must venture a spring. Can you jump 
that far?’’ pointing to the lower roof. 

‘^It is a long distance, father — quite one story, 
I think.” 

It looks more than it is, Henri. Take off 
your shoes ; I will throw down the bundle of 
robes that I have brought; that will soften the 
noise.” 

With heart upraised to heaven, he made one 
spring and lighted safely upon the roof, which 
sloped on the north toward the high wall, which 
was about three feet from the building. Father 
Paul was soon by his side: ^^Now one more 
spring, Henri, and then we are on the top of the 
wall.” 

I am very weak, father, and am afraid of fall- 
ing in the yard.” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


287 


Call upon God for help, my son ; it is our 
last chance.^^ 

One desperate effort, and the young man was on 
the wall. Resting a moment, he was soon lower- 
ed on the outside, and with clasped hands and 
eyes upraised to heaven felt that he was free. 

The priest speedily threw down his staff and 
wallet and joined his companion. 

“ One more danger, Henri. We must get the 
mule; sometimes she is very noisy, but I have 
corn, and I can keep her quiet, I think. Let us 
get away from the monastery, and I will bring 
the animal round.^’ 

Crawling along under the wall until they 
reached the road, the kwo were soon on the 
borders of the wood, and in a few moments more 
the mule was brought around, and both mount- 
ed, but not until Henri had exchanged the robe 
of penitence for the disguise of a young acolyte. 

^‘Now, Henri, here is a strengthening draught ; 
I see that you are very weak ; drink it, my son.” 

It is very bitter, father.” 

‘‘ I know that ; but it will do you good ; now 
the Lord be praised for this deliverance! May 
he lead us safely to the end of our journey ! 
We must make headway to-night, Henri, for 


288 


THE OLD chateau. 


ill the morning they will be on the hunt for 
us.’’ 

Are you not afraid of getting lost, father?” 

I think I remember the road, but it is very 
dark in this gloomy forest.^’ 

Just here were two roads, and after some hes- 
itation Father Paul chose the one to the right 
and traveled on cheerfully for some hours, talk- 
ing of home and Coral ie, and the dear friends at 
the chateau. Coming out of the woods, the gray 
dawn was dispelling some of the darkness, for 
the moon had gone down. The smell of the cool 
morning air was like an elixir to Henri’s weary, 
wornout spirits; and as the clouds of night fled 
away at the approach of morning, and the rosy 
light of day began to tip the mountain-tops, 
Henri clasped his hands in ecstasy, exclaiming, 
“Thanks for the dear, blessed sunlight once 
more ! I saw it only once while in the mon- 
astery, and then from the little window through 
which we escaped ; listen, father, to the sweet 
birds singing their morning song ! What a happy 
world this would be if it were not for the brand 
of sin !” 

Just then Father Paul looked around, bewil- 
dered. 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


289 


I fear that we are lost, Henri,” said the 
priest, “ for I do not remember this spot, at all; 
this much I remember; we were to the west of 
the sunrise, among a few cottages of the goat- 
herds at the foot of the mountains ; if I could 
meet any one I would inquire for Jean Sontange, 
who owns the mule; but let us rest a while, Hen- 
ri, and take some refreshment.” 

Seated within the shadows of the wood, they 
regaled themselves with the simple fare borne in 
the old priest’s scrip, and ended with another 
draught of bitters, in which the priest placed 
great confidence. 

“ Let us enjoy a few words from the blessed 
gospel, Henri,” said the priest, for we need that 
strong support.” 

0|)ening at the Saviour’s prayer for his people. 
Father Paul read, 

‘ I pray for them : I pray not for the world, 
but for them which thou hast given me, for they 
are thine. And all mine are thine, and thine are 
mine; and I am glorified in them.’ 

Just listen, Henri, to our Master’s words : not 
they ^ shall be’ mine, but they ‘are’ mine! Oh 
what deep foundations has the Rock on which we 
build — not Peter; no, no, but Christ only!” 

25 T 


290 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Reading still farther, he continued, 

‘‘‘And now I am no more in the world, but 
these are in the world, and I come to thee. Holy 
Father, keep through thine own name these 
whom thou hast given me, that they may be one, 
as we are one. 

“ ‘ I have given them thy word, and the world 
lias hated them, because they are not of the world, 
even as I am not of the world.’ 

“ ‘ I pray not that thou shouldst take them out 
of the world, but that thou shouldst keep them 
from the evil. 

“ ‘And the glory which thou hast given me I 
have given them ; that they may be one, even as 
we are one. 

“ ‘I in them and thou in me, that they may be 
made perfect in one.’ ” 

Closing the leaves. Father Paul continued : 

“What blessed security! Oh how. long I 
toiled and fasted and prayed, working out a sal- 
vation that never came ; but here we find it all 
completed, and, blessed be God, it is ours !” 

“ I have often wondered, father, how a Church 
claiming to be divine dare lock up the treasures 
of the gospel from the people that Jesus died to 
save.” 


THE PILGRIMAGE. 


291 


Blind as bats, Henri ! They do not see the 
precious jewel of salvation by grace alone.” 

Thus they enjoyed this sweet morning hour of 
their pilgrimage, for so lifted were their spirits 
above earthly trials that for a while they almost 
forgot that they were lost among the tnountain 
solitudes. 

“ Let us mount again, Henri,” said the i>riest, 
for I do believe that all our footsteps are guided 
by a watchful Providence, and if we only trust 
in God he will send us deliverance. Listen ! I 
think that I hear a huntePs horn.” 

There was silence for a moment, and then the 
horn clear and strong came wafted on the winds, 
approaching nearer every minute. 

A rustling among the leaves, the bark of a dog 
and then the appearance of a hunter, relieved 
their anxiety. Father Paul made known his 
dilemma, and the hunter directed him exactly 
bow to find the cottage of Jean Sontange ; But,” 
said the man, ^^you must retrace your steps at 
least three miles and take the path to the left.” 

It was sundown ere they reached the foot of 
the mountain, and after resting a night at the 
cottage of the goatherd, it was found that Henri 
was too much exhausted to proceed farther for 


292 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


two (lays at least. He Lad endured such misery 
in his confinement, and passed through so much 
excitement on his journey, that nature was by this 
time entirely worn out. The. goatherd^s wife gave 
him her best bed, and with careful nursing, 
wholesome food and unbroken rest for three 
days, he seemed quite refreshed. 

It was a season never to be forgotten by these 
two weary pilgrims, for they had nothing to en- 
gross their attention but the truths of the blessed 
gospel ; and while Henri lay upon the comfortable 
bed in the cottage, the cool wind through the 
casement fanning his brow and the rural sounds 
without falling upon his ear, no words could de- 
scribe the peace unspeakable that filled the hearts 
of both as Father Paul read in tones of deepest 
reverence the words of the Master. Taking deep 
draughts of the pure water of the kingdom in this 
secluded cottage, they were gathering strength for 
conflicts in the dark and troubled days of the 
future. 

Thus the Father trains and disciplines and 
refreshes his own dear children in the days of 
their pilgrimage. Let us but know that we are 
his, and all else is secure — not shall but is for 
ever secure ! 


r. 



CHAPTER XIX. 

TAKING THE VEIL. 

FTER three days of perfect rest, which 
wonderfully restored Henri’s wasted en- 
ergies of mind and body, he was eager to 
commence the search for Corajie. Father 
Paul hired as their guide Jean Sontange, who, 
for good pay, undertook the task. 

They first stopped at the convent of St. Catha- 
rine’s. Here they were welcomed by the Lady 
Superior as pilgrims. Tarrying a day or two, 
they found that Coralie was not there, and after 
making inquiries they took up their staves and 
journeyed on. 

“ There is the convent of St. Ursula,” said the 
guide, but that is in such a dreary, desolate 
place that perhaps we had better not try to 
reach it.” 

That is the very reason we ought to go, Jean, 
25 ■* 293 



294 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


for we do not perforin a good work that costs 
notliing/’ 

At the end of a long and tiresome day, over 
craggy roads and wearisome ascents, they reach- 
ed the convent. 

Gloomy indeed were its sombre walls. The 
light that penetrated its darkness came through 
narrow openings in the thick walls of dark stone. 
The sound of the postern-bell was dreary too, and 
the dress, countenance and voice of the porteress 
were in keeping with the rest. Footsteps fell with 
a measured tread on the stone floor of the long 
corridors, and every face seemed stereotyped after 
the same gloomy asjiect. Black flowing robes, 
broad linen headbands, heavy black veils, a thick 
hempen girdle, a large black cross and rosary 
completed the habit of St. Ursula\s. Not a smile 
lit up one human face, not a soft w'oman’s voice 
escaped from any of those rigid lips; for they 
were schooled ever to speak in hard tones. 

One day’s entertainment beneath that gloomy 
roof sufficed for our travelers, and still farther 
they pursued their search. 

They turned their steps toward St. Eustatia, and 
after two days more found themselves at the gate 
of the convent. Received with a warm welcome 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


295 


by the Lady Superior, they introduced themselves 
as j)ilgrims. 

You have come at a very interesting season, 
father,” said the Superior, for to-morrow five 
young ladies will take the black' veil, and we 
should be glad if you would then officiate.” 

“ Our stay must be short, mother, but we can 
remain over to-morrow and will be present ; have 
you any novices in your community ?” 

“ We have five who have taken the white veil, 
and one just entered, but she is a very refrac- 
tory, obstinate heretic, and, though wearing a 
face placid as moonlight, has a will like iron.” 

The two pilgrims anxiously waited for the ves- 
per-bell, then joined the procession that wound 
into the chapel. Henri glanced eagerly from face 
to face of the young novices for the object of his 
search. Ah ! there is the dear face of his sister 
Coralie. 

Turning to pass out after the service, she met 
the glance of her brother. There was a sudden 
clasping of the thin hands, a movement of the 
lips, an unconscious step forward ; in another mo- 
ment all would have been betrayed, but Henri’s 
finger is placed upon his lips enjoining silence, 
for recognition must not be then and there. 


296 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The object of his pilgrimage is thus far attained ; 
but how to effect an escape, that is the question. 
There was not much sleep throughout the long 
night for either brother or sister, and the next 
day was one of nervous excitement. Twelve 
o’clock was the hour appointed for the ceremony. 
Father Paul had excused himself from taking 
part in the services, there being priests enough 
without him. 

. The tolling of the convent-bell announced the 
hour, and precisely at twelve the procession en- 
tered the chapel — the nuns in their rich bridal 
dress, preceded by the bishop and priests, the 
Lady Superior, and the nuns of St. Eustatia walk- 
ing on each side. Music and lights added to the 
imposing nature of the ceremony. Then came 
the vow of renunciation, the cutting of the hair, 
the disrobing of the candidates, and their return, 
clad in the habit of St. Eustatia, where, entombed 
in their coffins, they lay silent almost as death, 
while the nuns with torches in their hand chanted 
over them the funeral dirge of the Miserere. 
Pising, each nun took her lighted torch, and while 
the organ chanted solemn strains, they formed in 
a line, with the Superior at the head and nuns on 
either side, and passed out of sight, each with her 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


297 


‘‘ sister’s’’ name — no more to be known as mem- 
bers of any human family. 

Coralie had been permitted to witness this cer- 
emony, that it might impress her. She had been 
deeply affected by these ceremonies, and with 
a heavy sigh heard Jaqueline saluted as Sister 
Theresa, and Marguerite as Sister Rosalie, and 
wondered what power on earth had the right to 
rob these young creatures of the bright inheritance 
of joyous youth, or the world of their gentle wo- 
man’s ministry. 

So engrossed were all the nuns by the events of 
the day that they had forgotten to set a watch 
upon Coralie; even Sister Veronica for once had 
been off her guard. Father Paul watched his 
opportunity, and approaching Coralie, whispered, 

“ Where can we see you ?” 

‘‘To-night, in the chapel at twelve, where I 
watch.” 

Father Paul and Henri counted the passing 
hours ; and when the convent-bell pealed out the 
midnight hour they sought the chapel. On the 
stone steps of the altar knelt ihe captive. Turn- 
ing at the sound of footsteps, Coralie was clasped 
once more to the bosom of her brother. 

“You have had a suffering time, my sweet 


298 


THE OLD chateau. 


sister/^ said Henri, as he looked upon the attenu- 
ated face and the quivering lips. 

Yes, brother, weary midnight vigils, hunger, 
confinement, severity, loneliness and sometimes 
bodily tortures ; but none of these things move 
me. But how is our dear mother, Father Paul ?’’ 

^‘Very weak and heartsick for her children, 
my daughter, but I think that your return would 
restore her.” 

How can that be, father ?” 

have examined, Coralie. There are iron 
gratings at the cellar windows, bolted on the in- 
side; I went down into the cellar, but found that 
although they are very high from the ground, by 
the aid of a ladder they can be reached. Come, 
now, Coralie; the inmates are sleeping soundly, 
for this has been a day of excitement.” 

Taking her brother’s hand, trembling, she fol- 
lowed the priest to the cellar. Its darkness ap- 
palled her weak nerves, for siie knew not who 
might be concealed there, but sustained by Henri 
she reached the grating. In a moment the rope- 
ladder which Father Paul had prepared was 
secured, for there was a hook on which it could 
be suspended. Henri mounted first, encouraging 
Coralie to follow, and then came Father Paul. 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


299 


Soon tliey were all safe in the convent yard. 
Putting his hand within the bars, the priest 
fastened the bolts again, and then looked around 
for means to scale the wall. 

Jean Sontange, who had been admitted to their 
confidence, was on the outside of the wall, and 
whispered in low tones, 

‘^Is the ladder long enough to drop over on 
this side 

Heaven be praised ! I think it is,” answered 
the priest. And casting it over, one end touched 
the ground, which Jean seized and held fast, 
while with .trembling steps Coralie mounted on 
the inside, and was speedily outside of the wall, 
followed by her companions, the last one steady- 
ing the ladder by a heavy stone, which, by a 
strong pull from the three men, was then dis- 
lodged. 

Quickly attired in the robe of an acolyte, Co- 
ralie and her brother mounted one mule, and 
Father Paul and the guide the other; a heavy 
bribe, added to his sympathies, had sealed the 
lips of the latter. 

Speedily they passed over the mountain roads, 
neither Henri nor Coralie thinking of fatigue in 
their anxiety to be beyond recapture. 


300 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


Again at the cottage of Jean Sontange, they 
were obliged to purchase the mules, for it was 
not possible that either of the travelers could 
Avalk the rest of the weary journey. Traveling 
by day and resting at night, at the end of the 
fourth day Coralie, clasping her hands, suddenly 
exclaimed, her eyes streaming with tears, 

“ Dear, blessed Languedoc ! we are in sight of 
the hills beyond the chateau ; is it not so, father 
“You are right, my daugliter. God be praised 
for all his goodness, for he has been our guide ! 
ATe must not enter the chateau in the day-time, 
my children,’’ said the priest, “for Father Sebas- 
tian might be about. We will tarry at Edouard 
Grosjean’s, and when it is dark we will seek our 
friends.” 

“ This is a sad return,” said Henri — “ home- 
less, penniless, not even allowed to enter my 
own home !” 

As soon as it was dark they set out for the 
chateau. As they passed in sight of St. Omars, 
Coralie paused a moment, shedding tears of bitter 
anguish as she thought of the mother pining on 
that sick bed for her absent children. They 
rang the large bell, and Baptiste answered the 


summons. 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


301 


‘^God be praised, Father Paul! Have you 
come back again? But where are the De Grara- 
monts 

It had been a loud ring, and had brought An- 
toinette into the hall ; hastening forward, she 
seized the priest^s hand, exclaiming, 

“What news. Father Paul? Hasten, quick, 
quick 

“ The lost are found, the dead are alive again V’ 
- Just then the two removed their caps, and 
smiled as weary wanderers do, after long and 
painful journeyings, when safe at home. 

“Henri! Coralie!’’ exclaimed Antoinette, in a 
transport of joy, clasping the hands of the former 
and foldino- the latter in a close and lovinsr em- 

o o 

brace. Tears of gladness bathed the cheeks of the 
reunited friends, and, called by Baptiste, the 
whole household partook of the common joy. 

“ Tell me, tell me, dear iVntoinette,’^ said Co- 
ralie, “is mamma alive?” 

“ She is, my darling cousin, but very weak ; I 
fear the joy of such a meeting I” 

Led into the family-room, the story of their 
rescue was told by Father Paul, and tears rained 
over the faces of the De Lunevilles, as they looked 
at the worn, emaciated beings, and heard of all 
26 


302 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


tliut they liad endured for the sake of their com- 
mon Lord and Master. 

Seated close to the countess, who held her hand, 
Coralie looked around upon the dear family group 
and then down at her priestly dress with a sad 
smile, and said, 

‘‘This is all I have, Cousin Eugenie; can you 
furnish me with something feminine 

“ Gladly, my dear child ; and we will soon find 
means to get some clothes for you from St. Omars. 
But you are tired now. Antoinette, give your 
cousin a change of clothing, and Guillaume will 
take charge of Henri.” 

When they met in the subterranean chapel the 
transformation was very agreeable to the friends 
who loved them, for both were now clad in 
the dress prescribed by law for the Huguenots. 
Antoinette passed her arm around Coralie as she 
said, 

“ You are really one of us now ; and a very 
becoming dress it is, my little cousin.” 

“ I should have thought it a reproach once ; 
but now, Antoinette, whatever marks me as one 
of the despised flock is a great honor.” 

It was a blessed hour of family devotion, and 
the weary wanderers felt it to be an unspeakable 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


303 


privilege, tlioiigh enjoyed In a cave. The good' 
pastor had many precious crumbs of manna for 
the pilgrims, who with lieartfelt fervor joined in 
the sweet and solemn hymn : 

“Brief life is here our portion, 

Brief sorrow, short-lived care ; 

The life that knows no ending, ♦ 

The tearless life is there. 

O happy retribution ! 

Short toil, eternal rest; 

For mortals and for sinners 
A mansion with the blest.” 

‘^Now, dear cousin, we must, if it be possible, 
see our mother before we sleep,’^ said Henri, 
after the evening service. 

I will plan it, but you must be composed, for 
your mother is very ill.’^ 

‘^But she will soon get better, now that we are 
once more near her?’^ said Coral ie, with a look 
more of inquiry than of hope. 

That is as God wills, dear child, replied the 
countess ; but I fear that it is too late.’^ 

The countess was gone about one hour and then 
returned, the traces of deep sorrow upon her face : 

After the household are all quiet you may 
go ; I have a key of entrance.'^ 


304 


THE OLD CIIaTEAU. 


Quietly following the countess, the rightful 
owners entered by stealth their own ancestral 
home, for the usurper’s heel was upon its portal. 
The chamber door was ajar, and with beating 
hearts the two entered. Madame de Grammont 
was propped up in bed on high pillows, her face 
white, and her dark eyes looking forward with 
yearning in their depths as, stretching out her 
arms, she murmured, 

Henri, my son! Coral ie, my sweet love! 
come at last ; but too late, my children !” 

Long and silently they wept tears of mingled 
joy and sorrow. At length Henri said. 

You will get better now, dear mamma, for 
we shall be near you.” 

She turned upon him one sad, sweet smile as 
she replied. 

My son, the heart is broken. Long suspense 
and weary watchings have done their work. I 
am going where ^ the wicked cease from troubling, 
and the weary are at rest.’ But come here, Co- 
ralie, my precious one ; it seems hard to have had 
you so long away when you would have nursed 
me* so tenderly. You are pale and thin ; are you 
sick, my love ? 

‘‘ Not sick now, mamma, but I have been so 


TAKI^^G THE VEIL. 


305 


long shut up and spent such weary months, no 
w^onder that I am pale and thin.’^ 

And you still are separated from the true 
Church, children ? is it so 

It must be so, dear mainma,^’ replied Henri. 

‘‘Well, my darlings, I have nothing more to 
say ; yet I feel as if we should all meet at last, 
for I am sure that we all rejoice in the same 
Saviour.” 

During this conversation the countess had been 
gathering together some of Henri and Coralie’s 
clothing, and making it up into large bundles. 

“ Who is your nurse, dear mamma?” inquired 
Henri. 

“ Amie Ragout; but I do not like her — I wish 
that I could make a change.” 

“ I will send one whom we can trust, if you 
will discharge Amie, mamma, and then we shall 
have one who will not disturb our interviews. 
Cousin Eugenie thinks that Nannette Dugane 
will take the place, and she is a good, kind 
woman.” • 

“ So let it be, Henri ; but how often may you 
come ?” 

“ Every night, at this hour, if we are not de- 
tected. Woe to us if Father Sebastian tracks 
26 * U 


306 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


our footsteps! Now good-night, dear mother; 
we liave stayed long enough. God bless and 
comfort you 

The mother exchanged a fond kiss with each 
of her children, and then tliey bade a reluctant 
farewell, for Madame de Grammont was growing 
uneasy herself now, and said, 

Be quick, Coralie ! Oh if you should be dis- 
covered, it will kill me at once.’^ 

The two could only go out after dusk, but 
never failed in their midnight visit to their 
mother. Since Nannette had taken the place of 
nurse there was no difficulty in the way, but 
daily the invalid became weaker, and it was ap- 
2 )arent that her remaining hours were few. 

It was now the last visit of her children, 
although they knew it not. 

I have much to say to you to-night, Henri,’’ 
said the mother ; “ it will not be long ere I shall 
be released from this world of sin and sorrow. 
As soon as 1 am gone, you and Coralie will seek 
your uncle Matthieu at Montauban, for you will 
have nothing. All the family estates will be 
confiscated, as you are no longer Romanists ; but 
your uncle will take charge of you both.’ 

“ We are under the care of Heaven, mother,” 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


307 


replied her son ; He who feeds the ravens when 
they cry will not' forsake his own children; and 
what, dear mother, is your hope V’ 

Listen, Henri ; my hope is all in Jesus Christ. 
I have heard a great deal about penances and 
fasts, but they have all faded from my account 
with Heaven, and my eyes are ever upon the cross. 
When Jesus said, ‘ It is finished,^ I believe that 
he'did not mean his precious life, but his precious 
ivorh — our salvation.’^ 

Blessed be God,’’ said Henri, “ for this glo- 
rious testimony! We shall meet, dear mamma, 
where there is no more parting.” 

“Come, Coralie, my love — one more embrace 
on this side of eternity.” 

And drawing her daughter down, she pressed 
upon the pale cheek a last kiss from lips that 
Coralie felt were icy cold. 

One more embrace from Henri, and then the 
mother said, 

“ Go to that cabinet, my son ; you will find a 
casket there containing our family jewels ; take 
them away to-night, for they are very valuable. 
I would not have you robbed of everything.” 

“ I have already removed the family plate, 
mamma, as opportunity offered.” 


308 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


After obtaining the casket, reluctantly they left 
the house, bidding Nannette let them know if 
any change took place. 

They had scarcely left the chateau ere Father 
Sebastian took his place by the dying lady’s bed- 
side. After solemnly partaking of the last rites 
of the Church, Madame de Grammont lay silent 
for one moment, and then said, 

“ Father, all my hopes of heaven are built 
upon Jesus only, and what he has done for guilty 
sinners.” 

The priest left the room, and the faithful 
nurse watched alone throughout the night, and 
by the dawn of day received the last sigh of 
Madame de Grammont. 

It was a great trial to her children that they 
dare not attend upon the funeral services of their 
beloved mother; but on the night before inter- 
ment, at a late hour, the countess took them to 
St. Omars for a last look at the dear remains, for 
she had ascertained that Father Sebastian was 
absent. 

In the disguise of their pilgrimage they sought 
the room where the remains reposed, for they 
were afraid of meeting Betti ne. According to 
the rites of the Bomish Church, the body was 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


309 


prepared for the grave, and the children, sup- 
ported by the countess, took their last look of a 
mother loved so fondly. The face wore a look 
of perfect peace, and the countess said, 

“ Dear Agnace, we shall meet again.’^ 

^‘Orphans, indeed!’’ said Coralie; “whom 
have we left now? An enemy usurps our home 
and we are all alone.” 

“ There are hearts that love you at the chateau, 
my darling Coralie, and when these troubled days 
pass, I hope to call you daughter.” 

After the delay of a few days the time had 
arrived for the orphans to bid farewell to the 
chateau. The friendship of many years was to 
be disturbed, for in days like these it was uncer- 
tain when they should meet again. 

“ I shall keep watch over the chateau, An- 
toinette, even at Montauban,” said Henri, “ for 
rest assured that our hearts are here with this dear 
household. Father Paul will keep me informed 
if danger threatens.” 

“ Let us go over to St. Omars to pay our last 
visit,” said Coralie, “for we leave to-morrow 
night.” 

“It is not safe, sister, for Father Sebastian 
must know of our escape ere this,” said Henri. 


310 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Farewells were quietly spoken, Ibr feelings 
were too deep for words in that sorrowing circle. 
Henri was standing on the piazza of the chateau 
looking over at his home. 

‘‘Dear St. Omars said its heir; “what a 
wreck has been wrought there by the. fanaticism 
of an apostate Church — my mother, broken-heart- 
ed, in her grave ; the rightful owners driven out 
to make room for an ambitious priest, and all its 
wealth to go to build up the religion of the priest, 
not that of God.^^ 

God has his own designs, my son,” said the 
aged lady of the chateau ; “ you know that you are 
to preach the gospel of the Son of God some- 
where in this benighted world, and this is his 
Avay to fit you to be a minister of the Kew Testa- 
ment.” 

“ The carriage is at the gate. Coral ie,” said her 
brother, who saw her leaning upon the shoulder 
of Antoinette; “we must. not prolong the pain 
of parting ;” and taking her by the arm, he led 
the way, saying once more, 

“ God bless you all, dear, precious friends, and 
preserve you from all harm !” 

In another moment they were in the carriage, 
the door closed, and Baptiste drove off to the first 


TAKING THE VEIL. 


311 


post-coach station that led to Montauban. From 
that day the glimpse through the trees at St. 
Omars always came fraught with a throb of pain 
to the dwellers at the chMeau, at the memory of 
the sweet picture of domestic happiness once 
smiling there, now for ever dimmed. 




CHAPTER XX. 

THE SATANIC COUNCIL. 

N one of tlie magnificent apartments of the 
Louvre, the royal palace of Louis XIY., 
we behold the trinity that rules France. 
Splendor glitters everywhere through- 
out the palace of the Grand Monarch ; from tlie 
cuisine to the gay salon sensuality reigned. All 
that could satiate the animal appetites and gratify 
“ the lust of the eye, the lust of the flesh and the 
pride of life’’ were here in abundance. Glutton- 
ous, sensual, voluptuous, this slave of his appetites 
j)resumed to call himself the Grand Monarch.” 

Louvois, his minister, shrewd and unscrupulous; 
P^re la Chaise, his confessor, specious, intriguing, 
arrogant ; Madame de Maintenon, cunning and 
crafty, these three controlled the mind that go- 
verned the nation. 

In a gorgeous room they are waiting for the 
king. Madame is no longer young, but she has 

312 




THE SATANIC COUNCIL. 


313 


fine, sparkling eyes, and a pretty foot and hand 
which she is careful to display ; and then she em- 
ploys art to heighten v/hat time is defacing, and, 
dressed in the fashion of the day, is an imposing 
personage. Though it is a late morning hour, the 
king has not yet e.scaped from the hands of his 
valets-des-chambre. 

The door opens slowly, and, announced by a 
valet in full dress, the king joins the council. 
The three arise, bowing the head to the Grand 
Monarch, but the king unconsciously bows his 
manhood to them. 

Tinseled, powdered, perfumed and swelling 
with pride, Louis takes his seat at the head of 
the council. But there is a prince before him 
there — subtle, yet invisible; powerful, though 
unseen — Lucifer, the archangel fallen, who really 
h6lds the reins of government in persecuting 
France. 

We remember the words which followed the 
tempter after the fall : ‘‘And I will put enmity 
between thee and the woman, and between thy 
seed and her seed ; it shall bruise thy head, and 
thou shalt bruise his heel.’^ Since that day the 
world has been the battle-field ; Satan, at the 
head of the legions of the air, leagued against 
27 


314 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Christ and Ills people, has ever been at war with 
the God of heaven. In what age or among what 
people has he not thrown his armies? In all 
ages of the world he has operated through 
human agencies, taking possession of powerful 
intellects, enlisting them on the side of evil and 
persecuting the true children of God. 

We readily trace his agency in the kingdom 
of France, for here intolerance, bigotry, cruelty, 
sensuality and heaven-cursed pride wield the 
sceptre, and here, in this satanic council, Lucifer 
sits supreme. 

A silver salver witli rich wines is at' hand, and 
drinking each other’s health in toasts of heartless 
flattery, the first half hour is spent in mirth. 

‘^How fares our cause, Louvois?” inquired the 
king. 

The heretics are powerful still,” was the an- 
swer. There are hundreds of thousands yet 
who defy your power, sire, but there is a way to 
manage them.” 

Money and office are powerful aids,” replied 
the king ; ‘‘ they have been successful with many 
of the nobles, and we must not stint the baits.” 

Madame smiled as she replied, 

A slow way, sire, to convert these obstinate 


THE SATANIC COUNCIL. 


315 


heretics; sometliing more sharp, more swift, must 
be invented.’^ 

‘‘I agree with madame, entirely,” said Lou- 
vois ; for, wherever it can be done, they evade 
the laws, conduct their worship in secret, and are 
powerful yet.” 

Then spoke P^re la Chaise, who, like Milton’s 
Belial, 

“Seemed 

For dignity composed and high exploit; 

But all was false and hollow, though his tongue 
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear 
The better reason, to perplex and dash 
Matures! counsels ; for his thoughts were low, 

To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 
Timorous and slothful.’’ 

Thus spoke the priest : 

Perhaps his majesty has forgotten that the 
year of the Poman jubilee approaches. What 
could so immortalize the great name and signalize 
the piety of the Grand Monarch as to extirpate 
heresy from his kingdom? The days of pilgrim- 
age are over, and he cannot head a crusade or 
travel on foot to the Holy Land ; and, sire,” con- 
tinued the priest, ^^a new Christian hero may 
arise, and perhaps some glorious poet may im- 
mortalize his name.” 


316 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


What would you advise as the best method 
to attain the end ?” inquired the king. 

“ Tlie Huguenots are like poisonous weeds/^ 
answered Louvois; '^nothing will root them out 
but extermination.” 

“We must get rid of the old Edict of Nantes,” 
said the priest, “and heresy will melt away like 
a snow-drift before the sun.” 

“ Let loose the dragoons ; they are excellent 
missionaries,” said Madame de Maintenon ; 
“ Noailles declares the sabre and the rack to be 
famous converters.” 

“Let there be no delay,” said the king, “for 
we weary of the existence of these pestilent Hu- 
guenots in our kingdom.” 

This was the monarch who had declared that 
the Huguenots were loyal subjects who had 
helped to steady the tottering crown upon the 
royal head; now, under the influence of these 
evil spirits, he was ready to sacrifice them to the 
popular vengeance. 

“ When Languedoc is visited,” said the king, 
“let Captain Sanglier take the command, with 
orders to be especially devoted to the family of 
the Count de Luneville, whose impertinence we 
have not forgotten.” 


THE SATANIC COUNCIL. 


317 


‘^We have done a great work to-day/^ said 
Louvois ; “ for I trust, sire, that you are bent 
upon accomplishing all that we desire.’’ 

France shall be convertedj^ replied the mon- 
arch, “ and we sanction any means to accomplish 
that holy end.” 

The infamous council separated, to meet again 
in the evening at a grand ball. 

The record of that diabolical plot went up to 
heaven to be remembered in the day when, 
mounted on the white horse of the Apocalypse, 
with a vesture dipped in blood, Jesus comes with 
the sharp sword of righteous retribution to avenge 
the wrongs of his slaughtered saints. Blind, be- 
sotted, given up to the hardness of impenitent 
hearts, the movers of the morning’s tragedy met 
to enjoy an evening of comedy. 

Magnificent, sparkling, witty Madame de 
Maintenon presided with the grace of a queen at 
this brilliant fete, followed and imitated by the 
dissolute women who composed the court of 
Louis XI Y. But overdressed, jeweled and rouged 
as were the ladies of the court, they scarcely ex- 
ceeded the extravagance and glitter of the men, 
who imitated the king in most servile obsequious- 
ness, afraid to look above his shoe-tie in their 


318 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


awe of the Grand Monarch. Light frivolity, empty 
badinage and utter abandonment to the revelry 
of the hour marked the atmosphere of the court. 

Meue, Mene, Tekel, Upharsin,’^ is written as 
certainly against the Grand Monarch as it ever was 
against Belshazzar, though the letters do not glare 
upon the palace walls of the Louvre as they did 
in the sight of the king . of Babylon. Scattered 
throughout the kingdom was the persecuted flock 
of the Huguenots — some hidden in dens and 
caves, some mourning in their desolation the de- 
struction of property and the loss of their beloved 
ones ; some, separated for ever from their families, 
languished in the galleys, and others, immured 
in convents, dragged out a miserable existence. 
Their churches were destroyed and their children 
wrested from them ; at any moment they might 
become victims of the dragonnades. Now worse 
days were at hand ; the bloodhounds of the 
Louvre were let loose everywhere, with commands 
to give no quarter. No language could describe 
the horrors of those fearful days. Bare truth can 
scarcely be believed. 

The dragoons spared neither old age, tender 
womanhood nor innocent childhood. Soldiers tied 
crucifixes to the end of their carbines, compelling 


THE SATANIC COUNCIL. 


319 


the heretics to kiss them ; if they refused, they 
were thrust down their throats or into their 
stomachs. Some were cudgeled, many were beat- 
en to a jelly with a flat sword, others stabbed 
with a bayonet. Women were brutally whipped, 
struck across their faces with a rattan, disfiguring 
them shamefully ; some were dragged by the hair 
through mire and dirt and over rough stones, not 
regarding their cries for mercy. Laborers at the 
plough were hurried off to the Romish Church, 
pricked along like bullocks, with goads, to quick- 
en their pace. 

Following the dragoons were a legion of friars. 
Capuchins, Franciscans and Carmelites, who 
worked upon the fanaticism of the mob, and 
marched as opportunity offered to assault heresy. 
Life for the Hueguenots was now intolerable in 
France, and, notwithstanding all the penalties and 
dangers attending the effort, thousands emigrated. 
England, Switzerland, Holland and Denmark 
offered a shelter in official declarations. The 
laws against emigration became still more severe, 
and the condition of the persecuted truly pitiable. 

These were the acts of a body which professed 
to be the only true Church of Christ, followers 
of Him who uttered the beatitudes — of Him 


320 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


whose life and death was one exhibition of divine 
love. 

Who can doubt that reads such bloody records 
of the existence of two great moving spirits in 
tliese days of the history of our race ? the one 
Satanic, leading on the army of pride, intolerance 
and cruelty; the other divine, inspiring the fee- 
blest with heroic faith, sublime endurance and 
forgiving patience, for even gentle women and 
tender children might be seen with uplifted eyes 
marching forward after the leader of their fa- 
thers, the glorious spirit of Protestanrsm, faithful 
even unto death. 

Thus the God of history has ever led his 
people, and thus he leads them now. Let Chris- 
tians be very sure that they are following his 
guiding Providence; let them not be beguiled by 
any false names of Ritualism or ancient Catho- 
licity to tolerate that which under every disguise 
is but a subtle form of Antichrist — popery still 
in spirit, the more dangerous while it wears the 
mask. 

News of the redoubled persecutions reached the 
chMeau. Closer clung the family to the Rock of 
Ages, living a life of simple faith for each day as 
its sun rose and set. 





CHAPTER XXI. 

THE DEATH-KNELL OF THE HUGUENOTS. 

AD news from the provinces/’ said Father 
Paul as he took his seat in the library; 

the dragoons are out in all their fury 
and scruple at nothing. We know not 
at what moment they may reach Languedoc, and 
it is best to be prepared. I tliink it would be 
wise to be provided with firearms, with which to 
defend the old fortress.” 

I have taken the precaution to have some 
repairs put on the building,” said the count, 
but we have very few muskets in our possession, 
and there is no way of obtaining any nearer than 
Marseilles.” 

‘‘It were well to despatch Baptiste at once, 
and if you have anything to send away, now is 
the time.” 

The count was not slow in following this ad- 
V 321 



322 


THE OED CHATEAU. 


vice, for on the next day Baptiste departed with 
a quantity of plate and jewels to sell for invest- 
ment in England with a friend of the family, at 
the same time purchasing a lot of firearms. The 
journey was performed at night chiefly, so that 
there was much delay, and no little anxiety was 
felt for his return. When at length, under cover 
of darkness, the faithful servant actually brought 
two large boxes into the hall, there was no small 
relief among the anxious household. 

We had a fearful journey,’’ said Baptiste, 
for on our return we found the whole country in 
a ferment at the news from Paris — the Romanists 
exultant, the Huguenots dumb with terror.” 

I suppose th5t you allude to the last infamous 
act of the king — the revocation of the Edict of 
Nantes. Terrible news is it indeed — the death- 
knell of the Huguenots !” 

While the persecuted people hid themselves 
away in their dreary homes all over the land 
there was rejoicing among the Jesuits. Grand 
Te Deums were sung in Rome and Paris; and the 
pope sent to Louis the congratulations of the 
Church. 

The clergy were frantic with joy. Bossuet and 
Massillon indulged in strains of the most fullsome 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 323 

exultation, calling the wicked monarch ‘Hhis new 
Constantine, this new Theodosius,” addressing to 
Heaven this impious prayer: ^^King of heaven, 
preserve the king of earth !” 

Do you hear that horrible peal ?” said An- 
toinette, as the bells of St. Genevieve joined in 
the general joy ; it is our death-knell, mademoi- 
selle — no tarrying in France now!” 

Peace vanished from the chateau. Wretched 
outcasts from their homes wandered along the 
roads seeking to escape from France, and chill- 
ing the blood with recitals of the horrors through 
which they had passed. 

They are drawing near,” said Father Paul; 

let provisions be sent to the turret and to the 
room behind the chapel; and may God preserve 
you all from danger 1” 

Every precaution was taken, and sheltered be- 
neath the wing of the Almighty, there was a 
quiet sense of waiting only upon God. 

Madame de Luneville maintained a sweet and 
solemn frame of dependence upon the Christian’s 
God. 

‘^Eemember, Antoinette,” said the aged saint, 
“ should I be called to pass through the gate of 
death, that you will find a casket containing 


324 


THE OLD ChItEAU. 


family jewels in the cabinet standing in my cham- 
ber; the necklace, my dear, is yours; other arti- 
cles you will find marked for different members 
of the family ; they may serve for a support in 
time of need.^’ 

It is the sunset hour of one of the brightest of 
sunny days in Languedoc, and Antoinette is 
standing with Magdalen la Roche at the upper 
window of the chMeau, looking out upon the 
landscape. 

Is not this a charming spot, mademoiselle ?’’ 
asked the young lady ; and yet whenever I look 
at it now it is with feelings of sad uncertainty, 
for I have forebodings of the day of departure. 
We cannot live here much longer, I fear.^’ 

“That is my impression, Antoinette; for lovely 
as everything around us is, there seems of late 
a veil of sorrow spread over sky, and tree, and 
flower, and even the song of the birds seems 
mournful.’^ 

“ That must be the reflection of your own spirit, 
mademoiselle.’’ Suddenly clasping her hands, a 
look of terror on her face, she exclaimed : “ Look ! 
look at that cloud of dust on the road beyond the 
hamlet ; it must be horsemen, for I see the glitter 
of their sabres. Gracious God, defend us !” 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 325 


In another instant Baptiste came rushing up the 
stairs ; 

Mademoiselle, the dragoons are upon us ! fly 
to the turret.’^ 

AVhere are the rest, Baptiste said the heroic 
girl ; I will not leave them.’^ 

“ The countess, the pastor, i^atalie and Lucette 
are safe in the turret.^’ 

Where are grandma and Clarice 

Clarice is nowhere to be found, and madame 
will not go until she is heard from.’^ 

‘‘ Fly, mademoiselle,’^ said Antoinette ; 1 will 

search for my sister; take her, Baptiste,” con- 
tinued the speaker, ‘‘she is not needed here;” 
and the faithful servant hurried her almost faint- 
ing to the turret. 

Antoinette then flew down stairs, and in the 
hall found the count, Guillaume and Madame de 
Luneville. 

‘‘ To the turret, Antoinette — lose no time!” said 
the agonized father. 

“ And leave my sister to the dragoons ? Never, 
never, papa ;” and out into the garden she rushed 
in search of Clarice, hastened in her flight by the 
sight of a troop of dragoons scarce two hundred 
yards distant. 

28 


326 


THE OLD chateau. 

Unconscious of the terror within, the child was 
gathering a bouquet from her flower-bed at the foot 
of the garden. Sezing her hand, Antoinette flew 
over the terrace into the chateau, hoping to be in 
time to gain the turret ; but she was too late, for 
the dragoons were tramping over the lawn, the 
foremost already in the hall, as Antoinette entered 
the back door. 

The count and Guillaume were standing calm- 
ly at the entrance, unarmed. The aged mother, 
pale and serene, with hands clasped upon her 
breast, stood somewhat back. Perceiving An- 
toinette, she said, 

“ Bring Clarice to me. Poor lamb ! how she 
trembles 

Clinging to her grandmother’s side, she looked 
up in her face with such an expression of hel^Dless 
innocence, as she said. 

Will they murder us, grandma?” 

“ Heaven knows, Clarice then confronting 
the captain of the dragoons, she continued, What 
brings you here to disturb the peace of a quiet 
family ?” 

‘‘We are on a mission from the king; our 
errand, madame, is the conversion of heretics or 
their blood.” 


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The Dragonade. 


Page 327. 




Old Chateau. 



THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 327 


A vain errand at the Chateau de Luneville.’’ 

Hold your tongue, you old beldam,’^ shouted 
the captain, at the same time striking the venerable 
lady several times over the face with a sabre, each 
time drawing blood. 

‘‘ Hold, villain 1’’ said the count, rushing toward 
him ; “ do you dare to strike my mother 

Brave language for one without arms I” retort- 
ed the captain; bind him hand and foot, and the 
young man too.’’ 

The dragoons speedily obeyed the order, and 
the two ill helpless agony were obliged to witness 
further outrage. 

The old dame has some pluck,” said Captain 
Sanglier ; “ let us have some sport, men. Now, 
madame,” pointing to a crucifix at the end of his 
carbine, ^^you must kiss that; do you hear?” 

If it is a token that I abjure my faith, I 
refrain, bad man.” 

^^One minute longer; will you obey?” 

Antoinette turned her head away in anguish as 
she exclaimed, 

O Jesus, my Saviour ! be with her in this 
dread hour.” 

In the next minute he thrust the carbine down 
her throat, and as out gushed the blood he 


328 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


plunged a dagger into her noble bosom. An- 
toinette turned to receive the falling body ; kneel- 
ing upon the floor, she supported the dying lady, 
who murmured, ‘‘Lord Jesus, receive my spirit; 
forgive, forgive them. Antoinette, farewell and 
in another minute the heroic lady was with the 
martyrs around the throne. 

Paralyzed with terror, Clarice crouched down 
upon the floor, her white face turned upward, and 
her large, black eyes distended as though look- 
ing upon vacancy. 

“ Despatch the child,’’ said a dragoon ; “ she is 
nearly dead already ; that would be the oldest and 
the youngest ; I think that would please the 
king.” 

“ Have mercy, have mercy !” supplicated An- 
toinette, clinging to the knees of the soldier; 
“ she is so helpless, so defenceless ; spare, oh 
spare my sister !” 

“ Begone !” was the fierce reply. “ She was very 
fond of her grandma ; she had better go with the 
old dame ;” and without another word plunged 
his dagger into the innocent bosom. The father 
and brother ground their teeth in speechless, 
helpless agony, compelled to behold these horrors, 
yet unable to lend their aid. 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 329 

“ Are you satisfied ?’’ said the fatlier, would 
you add another to your list of butcheries 

“ Don’t be alarmed,” was the sneering reply ; 
we do not purpose bleeding mademoiselle ; no, 
indeed, my beauty ; she will make a charming 
wife for Captain Sanglier — the very one for me, 
brave and beautiful.” 

Antoinette shuddered at this fearful speech, 
yet folding the dying girl to her bosom, she mur- 
mured loving words so long as there was one ray 
of consciousness. Then composing the dear re- 
mains, she sat upon the floor pale as marble, 
speechless from grief. The captives in the turret 
heard the confusion and shrieks in the hall f they 
knew that five of their beloved ones were in the 
hands of the dragoons. But whose shriek was 
that, and that, which pierced the mother’s ag- 
onized heart? 

‘*We have done enough for to-night,” said the 
Captain. We have been all day busy in convert- 
ing heretics; now we are hungry. Go get us 
something to eat and drink, my pretty one.” 

A sudden thought seized Antoinette ; and in- 
stantly going in search of Baptiste, she said, 

“ Baptiste, be quiet; they have done a dreadful 
deed ! Grandma, Clarice !” 

28 * 


330 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


They have not murdered them, mademoi- 
selle 

“ They are with the martyred ones, Baptiste, 
No more weeping for them ; they have done with 
sorrow for ever;” and for the first time Antoinette’s 
tears gushed forth; but come, they are hungry, 
and they want liquor. Papa has heavy drugs 
in his medicine-chest; you get the provision 
and the wine, and I will bring the drug ; then, 
when they are all asleep, we can alarm the 
hamlet and fly to the cave.” 

Baptiste obeyed ; and soon a meal was spread 
out in the dining-room, and in a short time they 
were deep in their revel. From time to time 
they looked in and by midnight, stretched out 
upon the dining-room floor, the dragoons were 
all locked in a sleep that would not be broken for 
hours. 

Now is our time, Baptiste ; let us release 
papa and Guillaume first;” and soon that was 
accomplished. ‘^Now to the turret, Baptiste.” 

Leading the way, Antoinette slid aside the 
panel, and by the light that she carried in her 
hand disclosed a face white as marble, its lines 
rigid with grief. 

Thanks be to God !” cried the countess, as 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 331 

she saw the three yet alive; but where are 
mamma aiul Clarice 

“ With the blessed ones, dear mamma,” answer- 
ed Antoinette, ^ where the wicked cease from 
troubling, and the weary are at rest.’ ” 

Throwing herself upon her husband’s bosom she 
gave way to one agonized burst of grief, and then 
said. 

Take me to them, Gustave.” 

My sweet Clarice !” said the mother, kissing 
the cold, pale hands. ‘‘ I shall come to you, my 
love, but you will never return to me.” 

By the side of the girl lay the flowers that 
she had gathered in the garden. Antoinette 
placed them in the hands of the countess : 

For you, mamma ! It was her last act of 
love.” 

“ My darling, my darling !” murmured the 
mother, as pressing them to her lips she felt that 
they were for ever sacred. 

“ What is to be done with these dear remains ?” 
said the count ; we cannot leave them here to 
be dishonored though we endanger our own lives ; 
had we not better inter them in the garden while 
there is time?” 

Just then Father Paul entered, bringing with 


332 


THE OED CHATEAU. 


him another person. Throwing aside liis cloak, 
Henri de Grammont stood revealed. 

“ Oh, Antoinette, my precious one ! why was I 
not here to share this scene of anguish ?’’ said the 
young man, clasping both her hands. I heard 
liovv near they were, and have traveled without 
stopping by the way, and have come to meet such 
horrors 

They are at rest, Henri, with the blessed 
ones. 

We shall want your help, Henri,’' said the 
count; we must lay them out of sight to-night; 
but we have no coffins, and could not get any in 
time." 

There are the large boxes in which I brought 
the firearms," said Baptiste. 

That is an excellent thought. Now get the 
graves ready and we will prepare the dead." 

Taking off the bloody clothing, the countess 
and Antoinette arrayed them in pure white 
night-gowns, smoothing the beautiful locks of 
Clarice and the gray hair of the aged saint; they 
were then laid reverently in the boxes, and cover- 
ed with a fair white sheet for the hasty burial. 

^‘All is ready," said Baptiste, and raising the 
boxes on their shoulders, preceded by the pastor, 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 333 


solemnly they bore the remains to their last rest- 
ing plaee. Just near Clarice’s own flower-bed, 
where she had so lately gathered her last bouquet, 
under the shadow of a tree which had often shel- 
tered them in happier days, they lowered the dear 
remains of the martyred ones, confident that in 
the day of the resurrection these shall come forth 
clad in the image of their Lord. 

There was not time for many words, but, 
though few, the pastor’s consolation fell with 
soothing power on the sore hearts. 

Ere the grave was covered up, each one gath- 
ered the girl’s own flowers and strewed them over 
the precious dust. 

But there w’as no time for grief. They hurried 
into the cave, where the family of Count Rum- 
ford joined them, for they had been concealed in 
the room behind the chapel. 

“ Xow to the hamlet,” said Father Paul ; I 
have apprised the peasants of what is going on 
here, and you will find one hundred ready.” 

Coming in squads of ten at a time, they were 
quietly conducted into the old fortress without dis- 
turbing the sleepers, and furnished with muskets. 
Counts Rumford and De Luneville took command 
of the tower, and Henri and Guillaume of the draw- 


334 


THE OED CHATEAU. 


bridge over the moat. Tliere was no sign of 
wakino; ainonp; the dragoons until a late hour in 
the morning, so that there was abundant time to 
organize the peasants for the ex])ected engage- 
ment. 

“ By the holy mass !” said the dragoo-n captain, 
awaking, “ we have overslept ourselves ; it is near 

I 

noon and the heretics have had time to escape. 
They have carried off the old dame and her pet, 
and my beauty is nowhere to be seen. We have 
slept long.” 

I will swear that the wine was drugged,” 
said one of the men. 

I wish I had hold of that young witch,” said 
the captain, with an oath; “she should pay for 
it, if she is a beauty.” 

Gathered out on the lawn, where they were 
priming their carbines, ere they were aware of it 
a volley of shot and ball poured out upon them 
from the portholes of the fortress, wounding two 
or three mortally. 

“ Where are they hidden ?” shouted the captain. 

“ In the old fort,” was the reply. 

“There must be a way of entrance; let us try 
it, boys. The moat cannot be deep. Forward, 
my men, for the king and the holy Virgin !” 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 335 

sliouted the captain, as he plunged in first. One 
hundred louisd’ors for the heads of the Count and 
Countess de Luneville! Unburrow the rats!’’ 

‘^Now is your time!” cried Rurnford, and a 
volley from the defenders of the fortress hurled 
leaden rain upon the dragoons, of whom but two 
reached the other side un wounded. Of the assail- 
ants, many were wounded and several were slain 
outright. Captain Sanglier was among the killed, 
and the remainder, after a few ineffectual volleys 
of musketry, retired, deeply humiliated, from the 
scene of their defeat. 

I remember an inn by the roadside,” said one 
of the men ; let us take the wounded there.” 

After their departure the victors crossed the 
drawbridge, carrying Guillaume, the only one 
wounded in the fray. 

“You behaved yourselves nobly, my good 
men,” said the count, “and to your aid, under 
Providence, we owe our deliverance. We shall 
enjoy a brief respite.” 

Guillaume was carried to his room, and Father 
Paul, who had some knowledge of surgery, 
dressed his wound, and then summoned An- 
toinette. 

“It is not much, dear sister,” said Guillaume, 


33G 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


who saw the pale face and trembling lips that 
bent over his bed ; ^^only a flesh-wound that will 
soon heal.” 

‘^And they are really gone, father?” said An- 
toinette. 

‘‘ITes, my daughter; part are lying dead in 
the moat and on the lawn, some are wounded and 
five are unhurt.” 

“ Where are they. Father Paul ?” 

‘‘They have gone to Louis Gautier’s inn with 
the wounded men.” 

“Will you not take bandages and lint and see 
to the poor creatures?” 

Father Paul looked upon the speaker with 
moistened eyes as he replied, 

“ I will do as you desire, but they would not 
thus serve you or yours.” 

“ But you remember, father, that our Master 
says, ‘ If your enemy hunger, feed him ; if he 
thirst, give him drink.’ Now, Guillaume, I am 
going to be your nurse; you must be very quiet 
and mind all that I say.” 

“You are a ministering angel, dear sister,” re- 
plied the brother; “but I have been thinking, 
Antoinette, what would become of you if papa 
and I were taken from you ?” 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 337 

‘^God is the same, Guillaume; he remains and 
is always true.” 

Henri de Grammont now entered the room and 
said, 

God be praised that this is no worse ! We 
have all passed through fearful dangers, but who 
knows when they may surround us again? If 
you were deprived of both your guardians, what 
would become of you, Antoinette?” 

These are the thoughts that trouble me, 
Henri,” said the wounded man. 

Why then should I not have the right to 
protect you, Antoinette ?” said the speaker. “ I 
cannot go back to Montauban after the scenes 
of yesterday without that sacred obligation sealed 
in the sight of Heaven.” 

I could not entertain such a thought, Henri, 
in the midst of our deep affliction.” 

“ It would be a solemn bridal, Antoinette — 
almost in the presence of the dead. If your 
parents approve, you surely will not object?” 

‘^We will talk of it again, Henri, but not 
now.” 

The next day Antoinette and her mother 
walked with deeply saddened spirits amid the 
desolation of their once happy home. Tables 

29 W 


338 


THE OLD chateau. 


overturned, chairs broken, glass scattered around, 
gave indications of the revels of the dragoons, 
but the blood-stains in the hall wrung their 
hearts with anguish as they recalled the fearful 
night of horror. The smooth velvet lawn so 
trampled, the shrubbery crushed, and then the 
saddest spot of all, the lowly graves in the gar- 
den, renewed their grief. 

“ It cannot be really so, marama,’^ said An- 
toinette, “ that we shall never see our dear grand- 
ma in this world, or listen again to her wise 
and holy lessons. How could any one be so 
brutal as to harm that venerable form or that 
innocent maid 

We live in days of horror, my daughter, and 
our poor human hearts sometimes fail us in view 
of what may be in store for us in the future. I 
own that I tremble when I think of the dangers 
that we have just escaped, for what should we 
be in this dreary world without your papa and 
brother? But there is a subject, dear, that I 
have promised to broach to you. Has Henri 
spoken to you lately about assuming the relation 
of a protector, Antoinette ?” 

He has, mamma, but I discouraged the idea.” 

Your papa and I think well of it, my child ; 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 339 

for, deprived of your natural protectors, as you 
may be at any moment, Henri might still re- 
main.” 

‘‘You do not wish me to leave you, mamma?” 

“ Not at all, my dear ; let Henri return to take 
charge of Coralie at Montauban until we are all 
ready to seek another country, for in this wretched 
land we cannot stay.” 

“ I have no more to say, mamma ; let it he as 
you desire.” 

By the bedside of her brother the solemn nup- 
tials took place in the presence of the remaining 
members of the family, and in the most sacred of 
all human bonds the two were joined for life as 
fellow-pilgrims to heaven, fellow-laborers in the 
vineyard of the Lord, should their lives be spared. 
Congratulations were out of place in this house 
of deep mourning, but blessings deep and fervent 
were bestowed upon them. 

Convinced that the dragoons would be again 
upon them, for the defeat of the past day would 
only stimulate them to revenge, it was concluded 
that as soon as possible they must seek another 
home. Henri was now to return to Montauban, 
Baptiste was to convey goods secretly to one of 
the seaports to be shipped to England, and to 


340 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


procure disguises in Marseilles, the families 
agreeing to meet at St. Aubin. 

“ There is one place, mamma, that we have not 
visited yet ; had we not better go to grandma’s 
room ?” 

It was a sad entrance indeed ; there were so 
many marks of a recent inhabitant — her Bible 
with its marker placed between the leaves last 
perused ; slippers under the bed ; an unfinished 
letter open on her writing desk, and a bunch 
of keys upon her dressing-table. Both took 
their seats in silence for a few moments, shedding 
healing tears as they thought not upon the ter- 
rible scene in the hall of the chateau, but on the 
blessedness of the departed in their home above. 

Now mamma, let us open the cabinet and 
unlocking it, she removed the casket. 

Precious memorials of a holy mother,” said 
the countess, but more precious than all these 
is the fragrance of her saintly life.” 

But Henri’s visit is drawing to a close, for no 
time must be lost in their preparations for depart- 
ure. Therefore on the eve of their bridal, farewell 
words are spoken once more. God bless and 
keep my wife,” said the young man, until we 
meet again, henceforth to share our joys and 


THE DEATH OF THE HUGUENOTS. 341 


sorrows, our cares and labors together, where’er 
our lot may be cast.” 

Henri has gone and with a deeply serious 
spirit Antoinette returned to the bedside of her 
brother to minister to his comfort and cheer his 
loneliness. 

Thus the days roll on ; the work of faith per- 
fecting through seas of sorrow. Blessed will be 
the landing on the other side, for all such tem- 
pest-tossed and weary souls. 

29 * 





CHAPTER XXII. 

EXILE. 

T is home no more at the chateau. Fear- 
ful intelligence comes daily to its in- 
habitants of outrage ; the mob triumphant 
everywhere, churches destroyed ; and all 
authorized by the officials of government, who 
banished the pastors and interdicted public W’or- 
ship. 

News of massacres in the Viverias and the 
Cevennes reaches their ears ; property is confis- 
cated throughout France and given to Roman 
Catholics ; eight hundred churches are destroyed 
in a few weeks. Everything which malice could 
invent was done to exasperate the Huguenots, to 
obtain a pretext for another St. Bartholomew’s, 
Imt, Heaven directed, the persecuted people offer- 
ed no resistance : they only met among the ruins 
of the churches to })ray that God would soften 
the heart of the king toward them. Yet even 
342 



EXILE. 


343 


this was a crime; a pastor conducting such a 
meeting was obliged to do penance with a rope 
around his neck, and then was banished for life. 
A number met outside of a city, thus to pray for 
the king, were discovered by the dragoons, who 
fell upon them and cut hundreds to pieces. 

Ill another place large numbers were driven by 
force into a church by orders of the bishop ; the 
doors were closed, and the people obliged to 
receive the bishop’s absolution at the point of the 
sword. 

Some fled into the woods, some into caverns 
among the Pyrenees; pursued like wild beasts, 
they were brought back to endure fearful tortures. 

These events hastened the flight from the 
chateau. St. Omars was closed now, therefore 
there was less risk in removing goods by night. 
Baptiste obtained the aid of two teamsters, and 
all went by different routes to St. Aubin, the port 
of embarkation. The parties encountered many 
dangers by the way, and were obliged to travel 
through unfrequented roads. Nothing was left 
at the chateau but the barest necessaries, the 
family sleeping in the turret and cave. 

Great anxiety was now felt for the return of 
Baptiste, who was to make the 'arrangements 


344 


THE OLD ChAtEAU. 


necessary for their departure. In peaceful times, 
the journey could be performed in five or six 
days, but he had been gone several weeks, and 
even the count was troubled, fearing that all had 
been captured. But there was an end at last to 
this suspense, for late one evening the faithful 
man made his appearance. 

‘^All is safe,” reported the servant, ^‘though 
we were in danger several times; but the goods 
are well on their way to England, and now we 
must hasten our departure.” 

Letters were despatched to Montauban ac- 
quainting Henri with their plans, and directing 
him where to meet them. 

is home no more, mamma,” said An- 
toinette as she looked around upon the disman- 
tled rooms, the bare floors and the meagre articles 
left for their daily use. 

“ Let us pay one more visit to the family- 
room,” said the countess ; and followed by Mag- 
dalen and her children, they stood in silence by 
the window that opened upon the garden, the 
favorite prospect for the dwellers in that once- 
favored spot. 

“We might stay, mamma, if we could con- 
form,” said Natalie, with a sad, tearful face. 


EXILE. 


345 


and be rich and great, and live in this dear old 
chMeau all the days of our life.’^ 

Yes, Natalie,’^ replied her mother, ^‘and lose 
the favor of God, the approval of our own con- 
science and the hope of another and a better life. 
Should we be happy in such a case ?’’ 

Not taught as we have been, mamma,” said 
Antoinette, the high, heroic look lighting up her 
beautiful face; “the path of duty is the path of 
peace.” Then, looking out pensively, she con- 
tinued, “And yet the sunset is just as lovely as in 
our happiest days. Look at those dear flowers, 
mamma; it seems almost impossible that we are 
to see them no more.” 

“ Can we not take some of our sweet roses in a 
box?” inquired Natalie; “then we could plant 
them in England.” 

“ Not in such a flight as ours, dear,” replied 
the countess. 

“ We shall never see mountains like these in 
England,” said Magdalen. 

“Nor such cloudless skies,” said Antoinette. 
“Ah me! it is a sad necessity to leave this 
blessed, happy home. But come, mademoiselle, 
let us go to the orange grove and over to St. 
Omars, for to-morrow is our last day.” 


346 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


In sadness the young people paid their last 
visits, plucking blossoms from the orange trees 
and a few flowers from the Vale of Roses ; then 
along the pleasant stream they took their last 
walk. Returning to the house, they sat a while 
in silence on the seats in the old chapel, where 
the same bright sunset flooded the room as in 
their halcyon days of childhood. 

Then to the gallery of family pictures they 
turned their footsteps. Here, too, was a solemn 
audience. Surrounded by the likenesses of so 
many of God’s suffering people, on this eve of 
their departure they felt a peculiar tone of sad- 
ness in this shadowy gallery, for now more than 
ever was there a deep consciousness of intimate 
and holy brotherhood with a generation that had 
all passed away — blessed, precious union! 

“ One array of the living God, 

To his command we bow ; 

Part of his host have crossed the flood, 

And part are crossing now. 

“ One family, we dwell in him ; 

One Chnrch above, beneath ; 

Though now divided by the stream — 

The narrow stream of death.’’ 


In the evening many of the dwellers at the 


EXILE. 


347 


liamlet came to beg leave to join the count in 
their journey. Deeming it unwise to increase the 
size of their party, he gave them minute direc- 
tions how to proceed — for there was a regular 
system of contraband travel among the Hugue- 
nots — and then bade them meet him, on the coast, 
at St. Aubin. 

We are all broken up in this happy valley,’^ 
said Edouard Grosjean ; what is to become of 
us God only knows. I have just enough to buy 
provision for our journey to the sea-coast, and we 
shall land penniless. But we cannot stay in 
France.’^ 

We must trust in our God, Edouard; he has 
promised never to leave us nor forsake us. Don^t 
forget the three children in the fiery furnace, my 
friend ; the Saviour that was with them there 
will be with us in our hour of trial.’^ 

Father Paul came, too, to spend an hour with 
the afflicted family. 

‘‘ I shall soon be with you, my friends,” said 
the priest, on taking leave, for there is no home 
for me in France now. I will come with the 
next party, and we shall have a happy time in 
free and blessed England.” 

It was the last evening at the chateau. Dressed 


348 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


ill various disguises, as peasants and travelers of 
the lower rank, the family met in the library. 
Their skins were stained, and iViitoinette and Na- 
talie were attired as boys selling chaplets. 

The Rumfords, too, were there in their dis- 
guises — the count as a barber, the countess as a 
female peddler selling curiosities direct from 
Italy ; the girls, with hair cut short and skins 
dyed, personated peasant-boys; the pastor and 
his daughter traveling musicians. They were 
all completely metamorphosed. Their last meet- 
ing was in the cave where they had so often met 
their God and Saviour — where, the sorrows of this 
mortal state all forgotten, they had often rejoiced 
in hope of “ the rest that remaineth for the people 
of God.^^ 

It is an hour of solemn worship. They are 
leaving their native land, their once blessed, hap- 
py home, objects dear from childhood, all for 
conscience’ sake. And the peace of God, which 
passeth all understanding,” rests upon that suffer- 
ing flock of devoted Christians. 

Their last dedication of themselves to God is 
renewed with the right hand of each raised to 
heaven, and the last hymn is sung, standing. 
Then in solemn silence they 2)ass out from what 


EXILE. 


349 


was once their Eden to seek a home in a foreign 
land. 

Walking slowly down the lawn, each one 
plucked a flower from the Provence rose bushes 
that bordered the path as a last memento of the old 
chateau, each member of the family thinking of 
the two whom they were leaving asleep in the gar- 
den. Ere mounting their horses, Antoinette stood 
a moment looking back at the dear homestead. 

“ We might have stayed, papa,’’ she said, 
‘^surrounded by wealth, and rank, and power; 
we might have basked in the smiles of the Grand 
Monarch.” 

“Do you regret, my daughter,?” asked the 
father, in tones that seemed aggrieved. 

“ Pegret, papa ! I am prouder of my parents 
to-day going into exile than if they wore the 
loftiest crown in Christendom.” 

The count was mounted on a horse, with the 
countess on a pillion behind him, and with panniers 
heavily laden with clothing and provision; An- 
toinette and Gillaume were similarly mounted; 
Natalie and Baptiste, the pastor and his daughter ; 
last of all, Lucette on a mule heavily laden with 
as much as the animal could carry ; the men were 
provided with firearms. 

80 


350 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


The Rumfords ])arted from them at the door, 
appointing their i)lace of meeting, for it was safer 
to travel in small companies. Indeed, it was 
thought that as they proceeded on tlie way their 
j)resent party wonld be obliged to separate. 

Starting at midnight, they were some miles on 
their journey when the sun rose. It was in the 
early autumn, the fresh green carpet of Southern 
France still retaining its lovely hues and flowers 
still blooming by the roadside. The pilgrims 
hailed the sunrise with feelings of peculiar joy. 
The rural sounds around them reminded them of 
home; the crowing of chanticleer, the lowing of 
cattle coming to be milked, the barking of dogs 
and the bleating of sheep indicated an approach 
to human habitations, but they couhl not tell 
whether it were friends or enemies that inhabited 
them. 

A woman in a peasant's dress just then came 
out with milk-pails on her arm, her curiosity ex- 
cited by the strange procession. She wore a 
friendly countenance, and the count accosted her : 

Can you direct us on our way to the coast, 
my good woman ? There are several routes, but 
we wish to know the best.’’ 

“ You are refugees, I suppose. Though I am 


EXILE. 


351 


not on your s’ule, I don’t lliink it a part of iny 
religion to oppress my fellow-ereatures ; so you 
needn’t be afraid of me ; I have helped many a 
poor refugee out of France.” 

We have traveled all night,” continued the 
count, “ and are very weary : if you can accom- 
modate us all day, we should think i t a great 
favor.” 

I could not do so if mv srood man were at 
home; but he is awav now, and all I want to 
know is if you are suffering. T can give you 
two rooms, and you will have a good day’s rest, 
for there is nobody here but our children. Come 
here, Jacques; put up the horses, and give them 
some feed.” 

The weary party dismounted, and never had 
they enjoyed a meal more at the chateau than 
they did this breakfast of milk, good bread and 
butter, with fresh eggs and a basket of fruit. 

Seeking their rooms, they rested for several 
hours. At twelve o’clock they had another ex- 
cellent meal of chicken and fresh vegetables, and 
by sundown they were ready to start again. 

You had better avoid the public road,” said 
their hostess, ‘‘for the bridge is guarded at night. 
Take the road to the right over that hill, and 


352 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


keep inside of the borders of the wood ; after 
traveling in that direction for a few miles, you 
may take the road again.” 

Compensating the good woman for her kind- 
ness, they started again, and traveled another 
night unmolested ; but the dawn of day brought 
them in sight of scenes of desolation — ruined 
homesteads, with prostrate fences, and the cattle 
roaming undisturbed over the neat garden-beds, 
devouring the vegetables and tramping out the 
grain. Not far from this desolate s})ot were the 
ruins of a church, the walls defaced by obscene 
and blasphemous words. 

Look upward, papa,” said Antoinette; there 
all is beauty, and harmony, and peace, for there 
we see only the works of God, but here in this 
poor distracted country everywhere are the works 
of the great enemy of mankind.” 

Another night was spent in the ruins of a 
family mansion, where affecting relics of recent 
occu})ation were scattered everywhere — broken 
toys, dolls, children^s books, their little chairs, hats 
and bonnets hanging on hooks in the hall, and 
out on the front verandah a woman’s dress torn 
and stained with blood. 

Early in the morning they hurried away from 


EXILE. 


353 


this scene of misery, and as they traveled they 
perceived a party composed of a man, woman and 
two children on foot approaching them. They 
were pale and haggard, their hollow eyes and 
gaunt faces indicating starvation. The count 
drew up his horse and inquired into their sad case. 

“ We are from the neighborhood of Bordeaux, - 
where we were in the midst of our suffering people. 
Turned out of our homes, we were wondering what 
we should do when a family consisting of a man, 
his wife, mother and children passed by, all 
chained as galley slaves. The priest offered them 
absolution on condition that they would abjure 
their faith ; they would not do that, and did not 
utter one word. 

Following the priests came women and chil- 
dren pelting them with mud and calling them 
vile names, but they did not resent it. The 
father knelt down and put up this prayer: ^ Gra- 
cious God, who seest the wrongs to which we are 
hourly exposed, give us strength to endure them 
and to forgive those who wrong us. Strengthen 
us for good, even to better.’ Then they sung the 
one hundred and sixteenth Psalm. The Romanists 
had expected complaints and cries; such conduct 
surprised them. Then the persecuting women, 

30 * X 


354 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


with softened hearts, began to weep ; they brought 
cool water and tenderly wiped the mud from off 
their faces, begging to have them lodged and fed 
in a barn; they brought some food themselves; 
but I do not know what became of them at last, 
for in the confusion we made our escape.^^ 

During this story Natalie was convulsed with 
weeping; wearied and bowed down with grief, 
her strength was rapidly giving way, and leaning 
her head upon her mother’s bosom, she seemed un- 
able to travel any farther. Turning into the 
woods, they rested a day and a night, and the next 
day set off again on their wearisome journey. 

Perceiving that they were approaching several 
small villages separated by a river, it was deemed 
expedient to keep on the hillside, sheltered by the 
borders of the forest. They advanced cautiously 
for fear of their enemies. Natalie’s fears were 
always on the lookout for danger, and pointing 
with her finger down to the open road in the 
valley, she exclaimed, 

“ Look, dear papa ! there is- a troop of horse- 
men, and one is pointing at us with his sabre.” 

“You are mistaken, my dear, he is only lifting 
it to his shoulder;” but turning to the rest of the 
party, he said in haste. 


EXILE. 


355 


Make for the woods ; I should not like them 
to get a glimpse of us.” 

It needed no second order, for now it was plain 
that a troop of twelve dragoons was near at hand. 
Natalie sank almost fainting upon Baptiste’s 
shoulder as they gained the shelter of the grove, 
but dismounting, they spread their cloaks and 
shawls upon the ground and made a comfortable 
resting-place for the poor girl. 

After a rest of a few hours, Baptiste started 
on a tour of observation ; there was a river to 
cross, and they could not venture upon the bridge. 
After an absence which became alarming from 
its duration, he reported that about five miles up 
the stream he had found a ford that could easily 
be crossed. 

Starting again, with the addition of four to 
their party, they succeeded in crossing the river; 
but it was now absolutely necessary that they 
should divide, for they were halfway on their 
journey, and approaching towns where they were 
more liable to meet their enemies. Gathering his 
flock together, the good pastor cheered them with 
his parting words : 

‘‘ Do not lose your confidence in God, my 
friends; remember God’s ancient people in the 


356 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


wilderness. Surely the pillar of cloud by day 
and of fire by night have been with us in our 
wanderings, for we have passed safely through 
countless dangers. Now, ere we separate, let us 
commend ourselves renewedly unto his gracious 
care and keeping.’^ 

Under the canopy of the over-arching trees, 
surrounded by the innocent creatures of God’s 
own creation, they knelt down upon the green 
sward, and the birds were their choristers in that 
forest solitude. 

Exchanging parting embraces, the count, coun- 
tess, Natalie and Baptiste made one group; An- 
toinette, Guillaume, the pastor and his daughter, 
with Lucette, a second, and the family from Bor- 
deaux a third. Giving the latter minute direc- 
tions and a part of their provision, the three par- 
ties took different routes, trusting to meet again 
at St. Aubin. 

For once Antoinette’s spirits failed her, for not 
one word had she heard from IMontauban, and a 
veil of uncertainty shrouded the fate of Henri 
and Coral ie. Now separated from her parents 
and beloved sister, she knew not whether they 
should ever meet again on this side of the better 
land. Truly these were heavy trials, but seizing 


EXILE. 


357 


the sliield of faith, she clasped it firmly once 
more, repeating precious words of promise : 

Commit thy way unto the Lord, and he shall 
bring it to passJ^ 

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most 
High shall abide under the shadow of the Al~ 
mighty r 

Comforted by these words, Antoinette felt the 
sweetness of trusting all in the hands of the Lord, 
and leaving, father, mother, husband, brother, 
sister, friend — all, beneath the sheltering wings — 
she went on her w’ay rejoicing. 

‘‘ Have you any idea how far we are from St. 
Aubin, Guillaume?” inquired his sister. 

I suppose about one hundred miles, sister,” 
was the reply, and could we take a direct road, 
we should be there in a few days ; but stopping 
as we do, sometimes turned back and resting for 
hours by the way, it is a tedious journey. Yet 
by God’s good providence we are each day draw- 
ing nearer, and once on board the vessel shall feel 
safe from our enemies.” 



CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE FOOTPRINTS OF “HOLY GHURCHP 

TRANGE that there should be such end- 
less strife about the Church that Jesus 
left on earth, when the record of the New 
Testament is so simple, marked by so few 
distinguishing features, and yet those features 
glittering in light above the confusion of human 
tongues. 

We find our Lord just before his crucifixion 
instructing his disciples concerning the things of 
his kingdom, and again before his ascension giving 
them his last commission, “ Go ye therefore and 
teach all nations, baptizing them in the name 
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost.’^ 

Obedient to their Lord, we find the little band, 
poor, despised, but full of faith, organizing their 
Church under the direct influence of the Holy 
Ghost, to be marked in all future ages by the 
358 



THE FOOTPRINTS OF HOLY CHURCH.’^ 359 

practice and teaching of that upper room at 
Jerusalem. 

Let us read some of the records of that hum- 
ble band after the descent of the tongues of 
flame. 

First as io preaching : 

And daily in the temple and in every house 
they ceased not to teach and preach Jesus 
Christ, 

“ Preaching the kingdom of God, and teaching 
those things which concerned the Lord Jesus 
Christ, with all confidence, no man forbidding 
them.’^ 

Speaking of Paul, in the Acts it is said, 

“ He preached unto them Jesus and the resur- 
rection.^’ 

And then the answer of Paul and Silas to the 
jailer is like a sledge-hammer falling upon sacra- 
mental theology ; for how can any one imagine 
that ordinances save the soul when they read, 
Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou 
shalt be saved 

Then as to the practice of the early Christians : 

^^And searched the Scriptures daily, whether 
these things were so’’ — not the apostles, but the 
disciples at Berea. 


360 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


^^And these all continued with one accord in 
prayer and supplication with the women. 

‘^And these continued steadfastly in the apos- 
tles’ doctrine and fellowship, and in breaking of 
bread, and in prayers.” 

Then as to their love and charity and joy : 

‘•And all that believed were together, and had 
all things common. 

“And the disciples were filled with joy and 
with the Holy Ghost.” 

This holy Church produced the fruits of peace 
and love. Accordingly, we find the apostle de- 
scribing some indispensable marks of a real dis- 
ciple of our Lord : 

“ We know that we have passed from death 
unto life, because we love the brethren. 

“ If k man say, I love God, and hatetli his 
brother, he is a liar; for if he loveth not his bro- 
ther, whom he hath seen, how can he love God, 
whom he hath not seen ?” 

Wherever, then, we see that holy, heaven-in- 
spired spirit, we hail that body as a part of the 
mysti<?al body of Christ, the faithful company of 
all true believers, the true Church. 

With these marks before us let us continue to 
follow the footprints of the persecuting Church 


THE FOOTPRINTS OF HOLY CHUECH.’’ 361 

■which claims to he the one only true Church of 
Christ on earth ; here we search in vain for the 
love, the joy, the peace of the true evangel. 

Coming once more in sight of a town, the party 
are obliged to separate somewhat, keeping each 
other still in sight, for fear of exciting suspicion. 

But there is a sad procession drawing near ; it 
is a company on their way to the galleys. Sol- 
diers, pastors, even boys, are chained together, 
under charge of the priests of the holy Church 
^‘but where is the love, the peace, the joy of the 
true disciple?’’ Certainly not with those relent- 
less persecutors, but it is with the saintly band 
who are singing their glorious hymns of peace 
and joy in the service of their Lord, cheering 
each other with their dear Master’s words ; 

“O sacred head, now wounded! 

With grief and shame weighed down; 

O sacred brow, surrounded 
With thorns, thy only crown ! 

“ O sacred head, what glory, 

What bliss, till now were thine I 
Yet, though despised and gory, 

I joy to call thee mine 1” 

Antoinette listened in speechless awe, and 
when one of the soldiers struck a gray-haired 


31 


362 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


man with his sabre, she could no longer restrain 
her burst of anguish. Bowing her head upon her 
hands, she sent up to heaven an agony of prayer 
for these suffering servants of her Lord. 

As long as she could retain one glimpse of this 
noble band she continued watching, listening to 
the words of the hymn as they grew fainter in 
the widening distance — the last that she could dis- 
tinguish, 

“ Come, Lord, and set me free.” 

A deeper baptism bathed her whole soul in 
more entire devotion to the cause of the Reformed 
faith as she thought of that heroic band. 

Here, again, among these homeless wanderers, 
do we see the footprints of the one true and holy 
Church of Christ; theirs is the love and charity 
which it exercises toward those for whom Jesus 
died. 

Conscious of being watched, the exiles were 
obliged to seek unfrequented roads again. One 
morning, when about to start, Antoinette observed 
two slender boys, scarcely able to walk, crawling 
up to their party. She brought water to bathe 
their faces. As she took off* their caps, a profu- 
sion of beautiful hair fell over their shoulders and 


THE FOOTPKINTS OF HOLY CHURCH.^’ 363 

their sex stood revealed. Both had fainted, and 
it was some time ere they were restored. 

Opening her eyes, one exclaimed, 

‘‘Antoinette de Luneville, do 1 see you once 
more 

“Can it be possible? Is this indeed Louise 
Bourquin 

“ It is, my friend ; we are all that are left of 
our whole family, but I cannot talk now and 
bursting into tears, the friends wept in each 
other’s arms. 

After resting a while and taking some refresh- 
ment, Louise listened to Antoinette’s recital, and 
then told her own sad story. 

“ Before the dragoons visited the chMeau they 
must have done their deeds of wickedness at our 
home,” said Louise. “ In the confusion Cecelia 
and I succeeded in escaping to the woods on the 
other side of the river, where we stayed a day and 
a night ; then returning, we found that some of 
our kind neighbors had buried our dead. Over- 
j)owered with grief and terror, we had scarcely 
time for sorrow, but attired in our dear brother’s 
clothes, we stained our faces and set out on our 
w’eary journey, having obtained some secret direc- 
tions about the route from some Huguenot friends. 


364 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


At any other time we should have been appalled 
at the idea of such an undertaking, but so anxious 
were we to fly from France that we would have 
ventured to encounter every danger rather than 
meet those dragoons again. We have traveled 
thirty leagues through the forest of Ardennes, 
often losing our way, but set right sometimes by 
wandering hunters or shepherd-boys. Passing 
under dripping trees and along broken roads, we 
endured cold, hunger and privation of every kind, 
but through all our hardships the sea-coast of St. 
Aubin was ever our aim. When we met you we 
were utterly exhausted, and should have sunk 
down to die but for this providential meeting.’^ 
Their shoes were entirely worn out, and the 
soles of their delicate feet were blistered and bleed- 
ing. Antoinette shed bitter tears as she washed 
them, for well she remembered how proud their 
mother was of their pretty feet and how careful 
she was to get for them the neatest ‘shoes. 

They shall be blistered no more, dear girls,” 
said Antoinette, ^‘for we will give you our horse, 
and I can ride with Lucette on the mule.” 

But what will Guillaume do?” said Louise. 

I have had no hardships compared with 
yours, my young friend, and would be ashamed 


THE FOOTPRINTS OF HOLY CHURCIl/^ 365 

to ride with such poor, footsore pilgrims iii our 
party journeying on foot.’’ 

Most grateful and comfortable was the arrange- 
ment to the young ladies, and now the company 
set out in better spirits. 

After countless dangers, sometimes in sight of 
squads of dragoons for hours together, sometimes 
obliged to rest from extreme weariness, sometimes 
unable to obtain any shelter but the lonely forest, 
at length they reached a plain where more than 
three hundred persons, in every variety of dis- 
guise, had assembled on their way to the coast, 
most of them bound to St. Aubin. 

Many had dreadful stories to tell of refugees 
intercepted on their way and obliged to march 
back, chained together on their way to the gal- 
leys, for this was the punishment inflicted upon 
those who were taken in efforts to escape. More 
footprints of the followers of that meek and lowly 
Saviour whose whole life was love, whose death 
was a glorious sacrifice for the sins of the whole 
world ! 

To these weary pilgrims such a gathering of 
suffering fellow-Christians seemed almost like a 
meeting in hearing of the bells of the Holy City 
and the soft murmur of its silver streams. Spread 


366 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


out upon the green grass, some reposing against 
large old trees, they rejoiced to find that several 
of their own ministers were in the company. 
Grandly rolled up their hymns to heaven as they 
sang the praises of the Redeemer for whose love 
they had resigned all of earthly good. 

Mothers sat there with tender infants folded to 
their bosoms, in some cases all that was left of 
the wreck of their pleasant homes ; and husbands 
were there sustaining their weary partners by 
strong protecting arms. Orphans were there, 
without either father or mother or any earthly 
friend, adopted by this Christian family as a 
sacred trust from Heaven. In sweet and holy 
council, singing their precious hymns and com- 
muning with the Saviour, who made himself 
known to them in the breaking of bread,’^ they 
continued their worship until the midnight hour, 
and then beneath the care of Heaven they slept 
on the dry grass until daybreak. 

Speeding on rapidly now, they proceeded with- 
out interruption, and on the first glimpse of the 
distant shore the clapping of hands and the joyful 
cry, The sea ! the sea from the foremost 
brought a running multitude to behold the long- 
looked-for place of embarkation. 


THE FOOTPRINTS OF HOLY CHURCH^’ 367 

The coastguard-house is conveniently empty, 
and anxiously do the pilgrims look for a vessel, 
but there is none in sight. The ladies seated 
themselves along the shore, and Antoinette looked 
amid the new arrivals for her parents’ and her 
husband’s party, for she was expecting both. But 
there is a sudden disturbance — a peasant called 
out, 

“ The dragoons ! the dragoons !” 

It was not the dragoons, but the return of the 
coastguard. 

There was a sudden conflict. Voices called, 
‘^Help, help !” and others, “Kill, kill !” A pistol 
was discharged, setting fire to the hair and wound- 
ing the left arm of the Huguenot assailed. 

By this time Guillaume and Baptiste were at 
the scene of conflict, the former defending the one 
attacked, in whom he recognized his father. 
Joined by others, they soon put the guards to 
flight and hurried to the count. 

Called by the confusion to the scene of action, 
Monsieur de Verdeen took charge of the wounded 
man, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance. 
He was a Boman Catholic, but he had a kind 
heart, and opened his house — not far off — for the 
reception of the family. 


368 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


Guillaume had found his mother and Natalie, 
whose strength was all gone, but soon returned 
with rest. Nor was it many days before they 
were joined by Henri and Coralie, who also had 
made good their way to the coast. 

The count was rapidly improving, Coralie 
serenely happy in the reunion with those she 
loved, and Henri and Antoinette enjoying the 
blessed intercourse of kindred spirits ere they 
seek their new home. 

The first vessel had gone with its freight of 
human life, their passage being paid by Prot- 
estant governments. A signal was displayed 
from the vessels thus employed, which were con- 
stantly cruising along the coast. Another was 
expected daily, and as soon as the surgeon thinks 
it safe they will bid adieu for ever to their own 
beloved France. Fresh arrivals of emigrants are 
daily reaching the coast by hundreds, for the hor- 
rors of persecution are increasing, and there is no 
place of refuge throughout the whole kingdom of 
France for the Huguenots. 



CHAPTER XXIV.' 

MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL! 

APTISTE had been absent for a few hours 
^ill errand for the count, and returned 

one day greatly moved by what he had 
^ seen. Two families had come in safety 
within ten miles of the coast when they were sud- 
denly attacked by the dragoons, the men marched 
oif to the galleys, the women to a convent, and the 
children to a Romish school to be brought up in 
that faith. 

I shall never forget the cries of the poor peo- 
ple,’’ said Baptiste ; as long as I could see the 
children they were calling out in piteous tones, 
‘Mamma, mamma! oh take us with you;’ and 
the mothers, wringing their hands, were calling 
out, ‘ My children, my darlings ! shall we never 
see you more ?’ but in spite of all they were hur- 
ried off. The sooner now we take our departure 
from this dread country the better.” 

Y 


369 



370 


THE OED CHATEAU. 


My arm is well enough for me to move, Bap- 
tiste/^ said the count, and by the sailing of the 
next vessel I shall be ready to go.’’ 

Very anxiously they all watched for signs of a 
vessel, and in a day or two it was announced that 
a sail was in sight holding out its signal for em- 
igrants. But little preparation was to be made,, for 
all their goods and most of their clothing had 
been sent weeks before. There was but one of the 
guard in the house on the coast, and his mouth 
was sealed and his arms folded by a golden lock. 
It was a bright and glorious day when the motley 
company took up their march for the vessel. 

There were gray-haired pastors, and some in the 
prime of their usefulness, their faithful partners 
walking by their side ; there were soldiers and doc- 
tors, lawyers, nobles and peasants, artisans, paint- 
ers and poets, and many from the very humblest 
walks of life, the most of them with nothing 
save what was carried in a wallet or small valise, 
each provided with a passage to England by the 
generosity of Protestant Europe. 

None are strangers on board of the vessel, for 
there is a common cause, a common sympathy in 
suifering. All turn their faces to the land, for, 
cursed and desolate though it is now, it is the dear 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL ! 371 

land of their birth ; even men are shedding silent 
tears, women are seated about on the deck, many 
clothed in rags, rocking their infants to sleep, 
their faces bathed in tears ; for they are thinking* 
of the homes that they have left — their happy 
homes in the vales of Languedoc and Provence, 
their mountain cottages among the Cevennes, 
Nearly all are leaving behind some slaughtered 
remains of those they loved ; and the memory of 
the vintage season with its innocent mirth, and 
the holy services of their Sabbath-days, when they 
went to the house of God in peace, come back to 
the exiles with a power that bows many a head 
in passionate sorrow. 

The sun is setting, bathing the land in glory ; 
and Antoinette, leaning on her husband^s arm, is 
thinking not of the sea-coast of St. Aubin, but of 
the sweet valley of Languedoc and the lovely 
chateau, far beyond the shadowy outlines of those 
distant hills. 

Do you remember these sunset hours in Lan- 
guedoc, Henri said she, “ I can see the fading 
light flooding the dear garden now, perhaps illu- 
mining the graves at the foot of that winding 
path. It seems so dreadful to leave them sleep- 
ing there with nothing to mark the spot but those 


372 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


humble slabs of wood. I wish that we could 
have brought them with us.” 

That was not possible, Antoinette,” was the 
reply ; but perhaps at some future day we may 
bring them over to England. But how do you 
look forward to your new home ?” 

“ Contentedly and thankfully I trust, Henri ; 
we can serve our master anywhere, and surround- 
ed as we shall be by so many suffering and des- 
titute people, we shall have enough to do to keep 
us from repining at our lot.” 

To me,” said the young husband, the pros- 
pect of a ministry among our own people is very 
inviting.” 

“You still desire then to become a Huguenot 
pastor, Henri?” 

“ That is my purpose. Heaven being my helper. 
Uncle Matthieu approves of it entirely, and will 
bear all the expense attendant upon my train- 
ing.” 

Just then an aged man, in the disguise of a 
peddler, pushed his way through the crowd and ad- 
vanced toward the speakers, extending his hand. 

“ Father Paul !” exclaimed Antoinette, in sur- 
prise, “are you indeed here? You are truly 
welcome.” 








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Old Chateau 


Last glimpse of France 


Page 373 




MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL! 373 

Thankful indeed for my safety, for I have 
gone through terrible scenes of danger and the 
old man told in his own way the story of his 
weary journey and his deliverance at last. 

The captain of the vessel was standing near 
them. 

^Tis the last glimpse of France,’’ said he, 
pointing to the faint outline of the land as it 
faded in the mists of evening. 

All stood in perfect silence, the men with caps 
raised, and the women waving their last adieux 
with their thin, pale hands, as the Count de 
Luneville said, in slow and solemn tones. 

My native land, farewell I farewell !” 

Many other voices joined the last “ farewell.” 
There was one burst of weeping, and then a silent 
company arranged themselves for evening wor- 
ship, while Pastor la Roche gave out a hymn 
which the whole company joined in singing. Its 
sentiment we find in the lines : 

“God of our fatherf5, by whose care 
Thy people still are blest, 

Be with us through our pilgrimage, 

Conduct us to our rest. 

“Oh spread thy sheltering wings around 
Till all our wanderings cease, 


32 


374 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


And at our Father’s loved abode 
Our souls arrive in peace.” 

Then prayers from several pastors, which could 
never be forgotten, closed the service and the pil- 
grims sought their rest. 

Early in the morning they were astir, and An- 
toinette found grateful employment in listening 
to the sorrows of the women as she sat down by 
the side of her suffering sisters, taking their hands 
in her own and cheering them with her own 
sweet words of Christian love. 

There was some delay in crossing the Channel, 
for the wind was aliead ; many were now sea-sick 
and forlorn, but toward evening the wind changed, 
and as they felt more cheerful, Henri proposed 
that the exiles should learn the national air of 
England, so that they might sing it on their 
landing. 

The suggestion was quickly responded to, for 
it was well known what a hearty welcome had 
been extended to other companies of emigrants. 
The national hymn was sung with the whole 
heart, although in broken English, and the cap- 
tain said that he had heard it sung in many 
public assemblies in his native land, but never 
had it sounded so grand as when it came from 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL! 375 

tlie lips of these persecuted exiles on their way to 
the land of their adoption. 

Land was in sight now, and the white cliffs of 
Dover were drawing every moment nearer and 
nearer. There was too intense feeling for conver- 
sation, and in silence they prepared to land. Arm 
in arm the pilgrims set their feet upon the shore, 
the Count and Countess de Luneville first. Sud- 
denly the lady prostrated herself upon the ground, 
kissing it and saying. 

Thank God for the free and happy soil of 
England !” 

The procession then took up its march on the 
way to the town nearest the shore, where accom- 
modations were prepared until a vessel should 
be ready to convey them to Ireland, the place of 
their final destination. 

After partaking of warm-hearted hospitality, 
the next day they set sail for Ireland, where the 
earl of Galway was expecting them. A short 
passage brought them to their landing-place, 
where the noble earl was ready to conduct them 
forward. 

Gray-haired pastors with their wives and chil- 
dren, nobles in the disguises which they had 
chosen — peddlers, musicians, soldiers, priests, 


376 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


peasants, valets, flower-girls, milkwomen, fish- 
women, shepherds, hunters — all in solemn silence 
marched forward, but none knew whither. On- 
ward till they reached the town, then through 
the principal street, the men with their heads 
uncovered, the women with tearful faces, all 
joining in one burst of glorious music, as they 
sang 

“God save the king.” 

Crowds had followed them all the way, cheer- 
ing them with words of hearty welcome, and 
when they reached the open market-house it 
seemed that the people for miles around had 
assembled to meet the exiles. 

The men threw up their hats, the women their 
handkerchiefs, and many an honest British face 
was bathed in tears of righteous indignation, as 
they looked at the rags which hung around many 
of the strangers. 

They had been expected, for the earl of Gal- 
way, deeply interested in their sorrows, had been 
long engaged in raising a fund for their relief. 
The earl was a French Protestant, bearing in 
France the title of Marquis du Ruvigny. He 
had joined the army of King William of England 
^nd distinguishetl himself as a gallant soldier. 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAEEWELL! 377 

On account of his Protestantism his estates in 
France had been confiscated, and King William 
had bestowed upon him the estate of Portarling- 
ton in Ireland, which the British Parliament had 
refused to grant. But his interest in the Hugue- 
nots continued unabated, and he made great exer- 
tions on their behalf. The king encouraged immi- 
gration and contributed largely to the fund for 
that purpose. The Irish Protestants were there- 
fore prepared to give the refugees a warm wel- 
come. 

Every house was thrown open until something 
could be done for their permanent settlement; 
such as could not be accommodated in houses 
were sheltered in tents speedily put up. Several 
of the French nobles sought an interview with 
the earl and informed him of their ability to do 
something in the present emergency. 

‘‘These are industrious people, the salt of 
France,’’ said the count, “ not afraid to work, and 
the very bone and sinew of the land that they have 
left. The manufacturers and artisans are many 
of them of the first class ; all that they need is 
something to start them in the very humblest way.” 

“ I propose to put up a number of houses for 
just such people,” replied the earl ; “ when they 
32 * 


378 


THE OLD chateau. 


are able they can rent them, but for the first year 
nothing will be demanded. Many of onr people 
have contributed to such a fund, and it will not 
take much to set up these people in their several 
trades.’^ 

“ You will never regret your generosity,’^ said 
the count; “but what shall we do with people of 
the higher professions?” 

“ Such had better go to London ; in a new set- 
tlement like this there would be no employment 
for them for many years.” 

The De Lunevilles accepted of the hospitality 
of the earl, who insisted that they should occupy 
a suite of rooms in his mansion until their own 
home was completed. The generous hospitalities 
of the whole town and neighborhood were ex- 
tended freely to the exiles. 

The site of the new settlement was soon chosen, 
the count giving the casting vote in behalf of 
one where there were many grand old trees and 
an open country all around. The dwellers in the 
tents were comfortable until the approach of win- 
ter, when other arrangements w'ere made for 
them, for their little homes could not be finished 
until the spring. A square had already been 
laid out in the midst of a grove of fine trees, and 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL! 379 


rows of houses had been commenced around it, 
with neat garden-plots in front, each separated by 
its own side yard and with plenty of ground back. 
Tlie Count de Luneville had his own plans for 
these pleasant homes, where the better classes 
might live in comfort. 

They were to have their piazzas all round, and 
their balconies in the second story, as much after 
the fashion of rural homes in France as their 
means would allow. It had been a wise fore- 
thought indeed which had led many of the Hu- 
guenots for months before to invest their property 
in England, anticipating these days of exile, as 
now they were able to aid in providing homes for 
poorer emigrants. 

One of the first necessities was a place where, 
according to the faith in w’hich they had been 
reared and in their own language, they could 
worship the God of their fathers. The good earl 
had thought of that too, and a very ancient 
building belonging to the Church of England was 
freely offered to the exiles. The pastor of the 
chateau took charge of the flock. Mademoi- 
selle la Roche presided at the organ, and the 
sacred hymns of the Huguenots went up to heaven 
on British soil, and their simple worship was 


380 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


conducted in its purity, protected, as in many other 
places, by the government of free Protestant Eng- 
land. 

They liked the ancient church, with its walls 
overgrown with ivy, its time-worn tombstones 
more than two centuries old, its little belfry, 
where their own bell called the people to worship; 
and though many of the pew-doors were off their 
hinges when they first took possession, the windows 
shattered and covered with cobwebs, and the 
stone floor moss -covered and slippery, they did 
not dislike this look of antiquity, for they count- 
ed theirs no modern faith, but one whose origin 
could be traced hundreds of years back, to the 
days of the perscuted Vaudois and thence to the 
apostles. The church was soon put in decent 
order; and it was a happy day for the refugees 
when, for the first time, they celebrated the Lord’s 
Supper within its walls. 

Mademoiselle la Roche resided still with the 
family of the count, and was soon fully occupied 
with a class of music-scholars obtained for her 
by the good earl of Galway. 

No tidings had been heard yet from the Rum- 
fords, who had sej^arated from the De Lunevilles 
at the door of the chateau on the evening of their 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL ! 381 

departure. Anxious to know their fate, the count 
caused advertisements to be inserted in several of 
the London papers, giving his own address. 

He waited a reply until the proper time; still, 
no letter came, and it was feared that they 
had fallen into the hands of the dragoons. But 
late one evening the count was called into the 
drawing-room to see a gentleman, and his fears 
were all removed by the sight of his friend. 

I could not endure the suspense of waiting 
for letters,’’ cried Eumford, embracing the count, 
*^so came immediately on reading the advertise- 
ment.” 

“ This is indeed a joyful meeting, Hubert,” 
said the count, ^^for there is so much risk in 
leaving France that I feared the worst. I was 
wounded myself on approaching the sea-coast, 
and detained at the house of a friend — fortunately 
a Boman Catholic, or I might not have been safe. 
But where are you ?” 

Settled near Canterbury, in a snug home of 
my own, and employed as clerk in one of the 
banks. I ride in daily — take my dinner in the 
city, and am the rest of my time with my family; 
but come and see us, Gustave, we shall be glad 
to entertain you. And how are the family?” 


382 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


“ You .shall see for yourself. We are enter- 
tained most hospitably in this elegant home, but 
I hope in the spring to be established in my own 
house. We have commenced building, but can- 
not finish until spring.’’ 

Welcomed cordially by the earl, they spent a 
pleasant evening together, and as there was really 
nothing to prevent the count from accepting his 
friend’s invitation, he returned with him to Can- 
terbury, taking Guillaume also. 

There was much to see and more to talk about- 
by the reunited friends, for the countess had her 
little garden-plot here too, where she spent much 
of her time. 

I am anxious about Guillaume,” said the 
count; ‘Gie wishes to study medicine, but there 
are no facilities with us, in our new settlement 
in Ireland.” 

Plenty in Ca-nterbury, my friend ; why not 
let him take up his abode with us during his 
studies, and go into the city with me daily?” 

That is inviting, truly,” said the young man. 

What say you, papa ?” 

“ Would not your lady think it troublesome to 
add another to her family?” 

‘‘ For one who has done so much for us, Gus- 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL! 383 

tave? Do not say another word ; it shall be 
settled before you return home/^ 

Accordingly, we find the count and Guillaume 
in Canterbury, making arrangements for the son’s 
entering upon a course of study at the opening of 
the season for lectures. 

‘‘Where do you worship, Hubert?” inquired 
the count. 

“ Come with me on Sunday and I will show 
you.” 

Approaching the grand cathedral of Canter- 
bury, the count exclaimed, 

“ Do you worship with the Church of England, 
Hubert?” 

“ Not exactly with them, Gustave, but in the 
same old cathedral.” 

“That is generous, is it not?” 

“ It is truly a noble instance of liberality 
toward foreigners persecuted for conscience’ sake.” 

By this time they had reached the Under Croft, 
and there, walled off from the crypt in the south 
aisle, was the apartment occupied by the refugees 
as a place of worship. In the early days of emi- 
gration this desolate crypt was used by turns as a 
weaving-shed, a school and a church. Over the 
cai)itals of the columns are still seen texts of 


384 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


.Scripture in old French, written for the scholars, 
and doubtless taught them here, generally from 
the Psalms, Proverbs and New Testament. 

It was a gloomy, sepulchral place, for here the 
ashes of five archbishops of the cathedral lay 
mouldering beneath the pavement. Morning and 
night in this crypt ^Uhey sang the Lord’s song 
in a strange land, and wept when they remem- 
bered Zion.” 

This room was plainly fitted up now with 
pews and pul23it and a precentor’s desk. There 
was also a long table, around which the communi- 
cants sat to receive the Lord’s Supper. And 
here, in this humble chapel, within sound of the 
choral service of the Church of England over- 
head, the three enjoyed their hour of sweet com- 
munion, thinking of the time when the Church 
of Christ shall be one indeed, as it is now one in 
spirit throughout the world — the one mystical 
body of Christ, the whole army of true believers. 

Precious thought! for where the Spirit of 
Christ is, there is his ransomed Church, We 
may see it under the crowned head of Margaret 
de Valois, queen of Navarre, or under the 
plumed hat of the Cavalier — beneath the steeple- 
crowned hat of the Puritan or the broad brim of 


MY NATIVE LAND, FAREWELL! 385 

the Quaker ; -beneath the lawn of the bishop^s- 
robes or the citizen’s garb of modern ambassa- 
dors of our Lord ; in the halls of the wealthy or 
the hovel of the beggar — there may we see the 
image of our Lord and Master, there the Church 
which he has bought with his precious blood. 

33 z 




CHAPTER XXV. 

LE PETIT CHATEAU. 

FTER a stay of a week or two we find 
our friends taking leave of the Rumfords, 
Louise and Florette promising to visit 
Portarlington as soon as the family were 
settled in their new house. 

It was good news to the household when in- 
formed of Gillaume’s prospects, saddened some- 
what by the knowledge that a long separation 
must intervene ere he could practice among their 
people. A grateful sense of the goodness of Prov- 
idence greatly revived the spirits of the refugees. 
Contented with their humble lot, all that they 
wanted to begin with was a roof to shelter them, a 
clean fireside and something to keep the pot-au- 
feu going. They had brought with them from 
their native land the knowledge of the art of 
cooking, and of what others threw away these 
French people could make an excellent dinner. 

. 386 



LE PETIT CHItEAU. 


387 


The butchers sold bullocks’ hides with the tails 
on, which were cast off, and from this refuse piece 
came the celebrated “ ox-tail soup and with a 
few vegetables and a little seasoning many a com- 
fortable meal was made by these skillful econ- 
omists. Like one family the richer helped the 
poor, and the poor helped each other. 

As immigration continued to increase, the Eng- 
lish nation stretched forth a generous hand. 
Collections in churches were made, a public sub- 
cription fund opened, and Parliament voted large 
sums. Thus a fund of two hundred thousand 
pounds was raised (a million dollars), and two 
thousand pounds for the support of ministers. 

Artisans and workmen were soon able to resign 
their claims for help, for they 'were too independ- 
ent, intelligent and industrious to live on charity ; 
but persons not acquainted with a trade were 
obliged to receive weekly assistance. 

The sons of many were placed in the best com- 
mercial houses in the chief cities ; some entered 
the army ; ministers obtained pensions, and many 
officers and privates served in King William’s 
army and received a pension from the govern- 
ment. 

There was a fund, too, for the sick and aged ; and 


388 


THE OLD chateau. 


one was reminded in those days of active benev- 
olence of the times of trial when the early dis- 
ciples of our Lord ^‘had all things in common.’^ 
The building was now at a stand, for winter had 
suspended out-door operations. 

Provided with a suite of rooms, the count^s 
family were domesticated in the household of the 
earl of Galway, who was celebrated for keeping 
open house for the refugees and an open purse at 
all times for the relief of his suffering country- 
men. It was a busy household at the earks seat. 
The ladies of the two families were constantly 
occupied with plans for the good of the people ; 
indeed in this time of destitution it was absolutely 
necessary, for nearly all came to England with 
nothing but the rags upon their backs, but by a 
course of systematic benevolence their wants were 
abundantly supplied by the activity of the la- 
dies. 

Louise and Cecelia Bourqu in were employed as 
governesses in the family of the earl — one teach- 
ing accomplishments, the other solid branches. 
Henri, under the supervision of the good pastor, 
was prosecuting studies preparatory to the min- 
istry. Guillaume having gone to Canterbury, Co- 
ralie was domesticated with the family, and 


LE PETIT chateau. 


389 


Mademoiselle la Roche was fully occupied with her 
classes. Father Paul too was among them, for 
henceforward the good old man was cherished as 
one of the members of the Count de Luneville^s 
family. 

Great was the contrast between this and the 
past winter. In Languedoc there was a constant 
sense of insecurity, but here were peace, piety and 
security. The count, however, would not con- 
sent to take up his abode for so long a time at 
Chatillon without making some compensation ; 
and it was agreed that what it would have cost 
him to maintain his family should all be placed 
in the relief fund for the refugees. 

It was indeed .a privileged household. After 
the varied employments and duties of the day 
were over it was the custom to assemble, not in 
the drawing-room, but in the large, comfortable 
apartment called the family-room, where, in the 
freedom of social intercourse, the household lis- 
tened with tearful interest to the accounts of the 
sufferings of the refugees in their native land. 
Of all these tales that of the amethyst necklace 
interested the children most. 

^^Do you never wear it, Madame de Gram- 
mont?” inquired Mary Ruvigiiy, the earl’s eldest 


390 


THE OLD CHITEAU. 


daughter, of our friend Antoinette, now well used 
to her new name. 

Not now, my dear, but on birth-days I shall 
bring it out, for we must never forget its history.” 

The presence of two such holy men as Pastor 
la Roche and Father Paul was esteemed a great 
privilege, and the worship of the household was 
conducted by the two in turn, while the music 
was under the care of mademoiselle. It might 
indeed be styled ‘‘ the church that was in the 
house” of the earl of Galway. 

Letters came from France to the countess, for 
she had a Roman Catholic relative living at the 
chMeau of Monsieur Bourquin, whose husband 
was one of the professors at the school of St. 
Omars. Their difference of faith had not broken 
up their friendship, as was often the case with 
French families, the fierce violence being chiefly 
among the priests, the soldiers and public charac- 
ters. She gave fearful accounts of the state of 
affairs, saying that many of their old acquaint- 
ances who had attempted emigration had been 
taken and sent to the galleys, where they endured 
untold misery. 

The winter wore rapidly away, and early in 
the spring active enterprise was again astir in the 


LE PETIT CHATEAU. 


391 


new settlement. Very delicious was this fresh 
and joyous season to the emigres. . The sweet 
hawthorn hedges, the bright green of the Emerald 
Isle, the lovely spring flowers and flocks of sing- 
ing birds, all seemed to enliven the subdued and 
pensive spirits of the refugees, but there were 
times when the terrors of the past would return 
with all their gloom to overshadow the retired 
hours of the exiles. 

Daily now the two gentlemen visited the settle- 
ment. It was pleasant indeed to walk among the 
little farms, many of which were occupied and 
beginning to assume the appearance of pretty 
rural homes. 

Neatness, economy and industry were doing 
wonders. Some specimens of the jargonelle pear, 
the black walnut and other fruits had been 
brought over and were now cultivated with great 
success. Here was one raising vegetables, another 
fruits, another beautiful flowers, for everywhere 
throughout the whole settlement, among the very 
poorest, might be seen the Frenchman's love for 
birds and flowers. These farms were in the 
suburbs, but there were establishments where, on 
a small scale, they carried on their several trades. 

There were lace-weavers and weavers of rib- 


392 


THE OLD CHItEAU. 


bons and embroideries; there were glove- makers 
and makers of fans, girdles, pins, needles, combs; 
buttons of wool, silk and metal, which before had 
been made exclusively in France; there were 
weavers, too, of silk stockings — in fine, all the 
more beautiful fabrics so valued among the fash- 
ionables of England. The workshops of these 
people were usually over their dwellings and 
approached through them. 

The sufferings of the Huguenets \yere not for- 
gotten in the homes of the exiles, who often spoke 
to their children about them, earnestly exhorting 
them to keep steadfast in the faith for which their 
fathers had suffered so much. 

Thus the children of the Huguenots were 
brought up ; their domestic training, their relig- 
ious discipline and school culture made them 
intelligent and docile, while their industry and 
honesty became proverbial. Very rapidly did 
they take their names from the relief fund, for 
as soon as their goods would yield them even a 
slender support they were ready to declare them- 
selves independent. 

It was a grateful sight to the good earl when, 
at eventide, he passed among these comfortable 
homes, to see the people sitting on their little 


LE PETIT CHItEAU. 


393 


porches, surrounded by their sporting children, 
neat and contented, singing their dear Huguenot 
hymns — over every little porch some graceful 
vine, and wherever a plant could find soil lovely 
flowers — everywhere the Provence rose blooming 
in its beauty, a sweet though sad memorial of 
‘•La Belle France/’ It was pleasant, too, to see 
the little children running after their friend, all 
eager to grasp his hand, the other frequently 
extended to pat some little fellow who was lisp- 
ing out the name of “ Le bon Ami,” the title by 
which he was known throughout Portarlington. 

The count, too, was very busy laying out the 
grounds around his dwelling. At length it was 
finished, their goods unpacked, and the furniture 
arranged by the ladies to the best advantage. 
The largest room in the second story was their 
family room. It opened on a balcony, but it 
did not look out upon the hills of Languedoc 
or the cultivated garden of the chateau ; now 
a fruit orchard at the back and in front a gar- 
den of flowers must compensate for the beauty 
of their French home. 

They were seated for the first time around 
the family board partaking of a French break- 
fast. 


394 


THE OLD CHITEAU. 


^^Have you a name for our new home, Eu- 
genie asked the count. 

What think you of ^ Le Petit Chateau re- 
plied the lady. 

Just the name,^’ replied the husband; does 
it please you, Antoinette?” 

“ Exactly,” replied the daughter ; let us make 
it as much as possible after the pattern of our old 
home.” 

Consecrating it by the voice of prayer and praise, 
they took possession of their home, which was 
surrounded by others facing on the public park. 
Mademoiselle was now at her old employment, 
and the five ladies had their Saturday morning 
gatherings as they had in France. Through their 
efforts a lace manufactory on a larger scale than 
had been yet started at Portarlington was under- 
taken. They secured the services of an ex-^ 
perienced weaver and engaged a number of young 
girls ; all were soon profitably engaged iu weaving 
this delicate fabric, for which there was no diffi- 
culty in finding a market in London. The ladies 
took turns in visiting establishments and read to 
the work-women from useful and improving books ; 
and thus the settlement grew and thrived under 
the smiles of a kind and gracious Providence. 


LE PETIT CHATEAU. 


395 


But we cannot pursue the fortunes of our 
friends. In common with many Huguenot fami- 
lies, they made Ireland their permanent home, 
and in their little town of Portarlington estab- 
lished a colony that left its impress upon gene- 
rations to come. Living industriously and hon- 
orably in the fear of God, they bestowed upon 
the land of their adoption riches which France 
had spurned from her borders. At the present 
day many of the best people of England, Ireland 
and America trace their ancestry to those French 
Protestants who fled from the tyranny of Louis 
XIV. God’s blessing has not forsaken his chil- 
dren’s children. 

In the commencement of our story we stretched 
our arms of greeting across the silent ages to these 
our persecuted brethren of a common faith. We 
feel that these are not all fictions, for, though 
their names are found in our waking dreams, 
these illustrious personages are types of realities, 
embodiments of a glorious spirit which took 
human forms, and through untold suffering and 
loss proved the divinity of their calling. We 
part with them reluctantly, for we have learned 
to love them as we have traveled with them 
through many weary days of trial and suffering — 


396 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


their one great object to purify the Church, to 
bring back the spirit of apostolic clays, to over- 
throw a mediatorial priesthood and to bring man 
to God by faith in Christ only. 

They lived, they died, to accomplish this. 

Nobly have they performed their work, leaving 
to Christians of the nineteenth century the light 
of their holy example, our open Bibles, our free 
churches and that glorious liberty which the gos- 
pel brings to man. They lived, they died, they 
sleep, waiting for the hour when they shall come 
forth wearing the victor’s crown, entering into 
the victor’s everlasting rest ! 

Shall we then throw away our birthright? 
shall we close our Bibles, and say that human 
priests must interpret for us what God has given 
freely to the whole race of man ? After the lapse 
of centuries of progress, shall we bow again at the 
feet of a human priest, to lay bare the secrets of 
out hearts and seek absolution at human hands? 
Let us rather imitate the example of the noble 
Huguenots in firm, patient resistance to all that 
oppression which would deprive us of the liberty 
wherewith Christ hath made us free ! 

“ A glorious band, the chosen few, 

On whom the Spirit came: . 


LE PETIT CHATEAU. 


397 


Twelve valiant saints, their hope they knew, 
And mocked the cross and flame. 

They met the tyrant’s brandished steel, 

The lion’s gory mane ; 

They bowed their neck the death to feel — 
Who follows in their train ? 

“A noble army, men and boys, 

The matron and the maid. 

Around the Saviour’s throne rejoice. 

In robes of light arrayed. 

They climbed the dizzy §teep of heaven, 
Through peril, toil and pain ; 

0 God ! to us may grace be given 
To follow in their train !” 

34 




CHAPTER XXVI. 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


T will interest the reader, we are sure, to 
have a few historic statements in the light 
of which to reflect . upon our tale of ‘^The 
Old Chateau.’^ 

The reign of Louis XIV. of France extended 
from 1643 to 1715, being separated from the 
slaughter of the Huguenots in the St. Bartholo- 
mew’s massacre by a century, as it occurred in 
the year 1572. The Edict of Nantes, by which, 
under a preceding sovereign, certain rights were 
guaranteed to the Protestants'of France, was re- 
voked by Louis XIY. in 1685. This act was 
secured by the Jesuits through the infamous 
Madame de Maintenon. They made a compact 
with her by which she was to persuade the king 
to revoke the edict of toleration, and they were to 
consent to her marriage with him. Thus this 
vile woman secured the position of wife of the 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


399 


king, and the Jesuits the right to crush the hated 
Huguenots. 

From ‘^The Huguenots/’ by Samuel Smiles, 
we will give extracts illustrative of particular 
points involved in our narrative : 

BEFORE THE REVOCATION. 

Louis had resolved to crush out Protestantism 
from his realms. A series of edicts was accord- 
ingly published in 1661 with the object of carry- 
ing this purpose into effect. The conferences of 
the Protestants were declared to be suppressed. 
Though worship was still permitted in their 
churches, the singing of psalms in private dwell- 
ings was declared to be forbidden. Spies were 
sent among them to report the terms in which 
the Huguenot pastors spoke of the Roman Cath- 
olic religion, and if any fault could be found with 
them they were cited before the tribunals for 
blasphemy. The priests were authorized to enter 
the chambers of sick Protestants and entreat them 
whether they would be converted or die in their 
heresy. Protestant children were invited to de- 
clare themselves against the religion of their 
parents. Boys of fourteen and girls of twelve 
years old might, on embracing Roman Catholic- 


400 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


ism, become enfranchised and entirely free from 
parental control. In that case the parents were 
farther required to place and maintain their chil- 
dren in any Roman Catholic school into which 
they might wish to go.’’ 

FARTHER PERSECUTIONS. 

“In 1666 the queen-mother died, leaving to 
her son, as her last bequest, that he should 
suppress and exterminate heresy within his do- 
minions. The king knew that he had often 
grieved his royal mother by his notorious licen- 
tiousness, and he was now ready to atone for the 
wickedness of his past life by obeying her wishes. 
The bishoji of Meaux exhorted him to press on 
in the path his sainted mother had pointed out 
to him. ‘ O kings !’ said he, ^ exercise your 
power boldly, for it is divine — ye are gods !’ 
Louis was not slack in obeying the injunction, 
which so completely fell in with his own ideas 
of royal omnipotence. 

“The Huguenots had already taken alarm at 
the renewal of the persecution, and such of them 
as could readily dispose of their property and 
goods were beginning to leave the kingdom in 
considerable numbers for the purpose of esiab- 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


401 


lishliig themselves in foreign countries. To pre- 
vent this, the king issued an edict forbidding 
French subjects from proceeding abroad without 
express permission, under penalty of confiscation 
of their goods and property. This was followed 
by a succession of severe measures for the con- 
version or extirpation of such of the Protestants 
— in numbers about a million and a half — as had 
not by this time contrived to make their escape 
from the kingdom. The kidnapping of Protest- 
ant children was actively set on foot by the agents 
of the Roman Catholic priests, and their parents 
were subjected to heavy penalties if they ventured 
to complain. Orders were issued to pull down 
the Protestant places of worship, and as many as 
eighty were shortly destroyed in one diocese. 

The Huguenots offered no resistance. All 
that they did was to meet together and pray that 
the king’s heart might yet be softened toward 
them. Blow upon blow followed. Protestants 
were forbidden to print books without the au- 
thority of magistrates of the Romish communion. 
Protestant teachers were interdicted from teaching 
children anything more than reading, writing and 
arithmetic. Such pastors as held meetings amid 
the ruins of the churches which had been pulled 


402 


THE OLD ChItEAU. 


down were condemned to do penance with a rope 
round their neck, after which they were to be 
banished the kingdom. Protestants were only 
allowed to bury their dead at daybreak or at 
nightfall. They were prohibited from singing 
psalms on land or on water, in workshops or in 
dwellings. If a priestly procession passed one of 
their churches while the psalms were being sung, 
they must stop instantly on pain of the fine or 
imprisonment of the officiating minister. 

In short, from the pettiest annoyance to the 
most exasperating cruelty, nothing was wanting 
on the part of the ^ Most Christian King’ and his 
abettors.” 

BUYING CONVEETS. 

Before the extreraest measures were, however, 
resorted to, an attempt was made to buy over the 
Protestants wholesale. The king consecrated to 
this traffic one-third of the revenue of the bene- 
fices which fell to the Crown during the period of 
their vacancy, and the fund became very large 
through the benefices being purposely left vacant. 
A ‘converted’ Huguenot named Pelisson was 
employed to administer the fund, and he pub- 
lished long lists of ‘conversions’ in the Gazette, 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


403 


but he concealed the fact that the takers of his 
bribes belonged to the dregs of the people.” 

KIDNAPPING. 

“The great body of the Huguenots remaining 
immovable and refusing to be converted, it was 
found necessary to resort to more violent meas- 
ures. They were next attacked in their tenderest 
place — through their aifections. Children of 
seven years old were empowered to leave their 
parents and become converted; and many were 
forcibly abducted from their homes and immured 
in convent-prisons for education in the Romish 
faith at the expense of their parents. Another 
exquisite stroke of cruelty followed. While such 
Huguenots, as conformed, were declared to be 
exempt from supplying quarters for the soldiery, 
the obstinate and unconverted were ordered to 
have an extra number quartered on them.” 

EXECUTIONS. 

“ Two years later, in 1683, the year of Colbert’s 
death, the military executions began. Pity, terror 
and anguish had by turns agitated the minds of 
the Protestants, until at length they were reduced 
to a state almost of despair. Life was made 


404 


THE OED CHAtEAU. 


almost intolerable to them. All careers were 
closed against them, and Protestants of the work- 
ing class were under the necessity of abjuring or 
starving. The mob, observing that the Protest- 
ants were no longer within the pale of the law, 
took the opportunity of wreaking all manner 
of outrages on them. They broke into their 
churches, tore up the benches, and, placing the 
Bibles and hymn-books in a pile, set the whole 
on fire ; the authorities usually setting their sanc- 
tion on the proceedings of the rioters by banishing 
the burned-out ministers, and interdicting the 
further celebration of worship in the destroyed 
churches.” 


JOY AT HOME. 

“ Great was the rejoicing of the Jesuits on the 
revocation of the Edict of Nantes. Eome sprang 
up with a shout of joy to celebrate the event. 
Te Deums were sung, processions went from 
shrine to shrine, and the pope sent a brief to 
Louis conveying to him the congratulations and 
praises of the Eomish Church. Public thanks- 
givings were held at Paris, in which the people 
eagerly took part, thus making themselves ac- 
complices in the proscription by the king of their 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


405 


fellow-subjects. The provost and sheriffs had a 
statue of Louis erected at the Hotel de Ville, 
bearing the inscription, Ijadovico MagnOj vidovi 
'perpetuOy ecelesicB ac regum dignitatis assertori, 
Leseuer was employed to paint the subject for the 
gallery at Versailles, and medals were struck to 
commemorate the extinction of Protestantism in 
F ranee. 

^^The Roman Catholic clergy were almost be- 
side themselves with joy.’’ 

EFFECTS OF THE REVOCATION. 

‘^Let US now see what the revocation of the 
Edict of Nantes involved : The demolition of 
all the remaining Protestant temples throughout 
France and the entire proscription of the Prot- 
estant religion; the prohibition of even private 
worship under penalty of confiscation of body and 
property; the banishment of all Protestant pastors 
from France within fifteen days ; the closing of 
all Protestant schools; the prohibition of parents 
to instruct their children in the Protestant faith ; 
the injunction upon them, under a penalty of five 
hundred livres in each case, to have their children ' 
baptized by the parish priest, and brought up in 
the Roman Catholic religion ; the confiscation of 


406 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


the property and goods of all Protestant refugees 
Avho failed to return to France within four 
months; the penalty of the galleys for life to all 
men, and of imprisonment for life to all women, 
detected in the act of attempting to escape from 
France. 

The Huguenots were not even permitted to 
die in peace, but were pursued to death’s door 
and into the grave itself. They were forbidden 
to solicit the offices of those of their own faith, 
and were required to confess and receive unction 
from the priests, on penalty of having their bodies 
when dead removed from their dwellings by the 
common hangman and flung into the public sewer. 
In the event of the sick Protestant recovering 
after having rejected the viaticum (extreme unc- 
tion), he was to be condemned to perpetual con- 
flnement at the galleys or imprisonment for life, 
with confiscation of all his property.” 

LOSS OF FEANCE. 

“It can never be known with anything ap- 
proaching to accuracy how many persons fled 
from France in the great exodus. Vauban, the 
military engineer, writing only a few years after 
the Revocation, said that ‘ France had lost a huu- 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


407 


dred thousand inhabitants,* sixty millions of 
money, nine thousand sailors, twelve thousand 
tried soldiers, six hundred officers and its most 
flourishing manufactures.’ But the emigration 
was not then by any means at its height, and for 
many years after, the Huguenots continued to 
swarm out of France and join their exiled com- 
patriots in other lands. Sismondi computed the 
total number of emigrants at from three to four 
hundred thousand ; and he was farther of opinion 
that an equal number perished in prison, on the 
scaffold, at the galleys and in their attempts to 
escape. 

“ The emigration gave a death-blow to several 
great branches of French industry. Hundreds 
of manufactories were closed, whole villages de- 
populated, many large towns half deserted, and 
a large extent of land went altogether out of 
cultivation. The skilled Dutch cloth-workers, 
whom Colbert had induced to settle at Abbe- 
ville, emigrated in a body, and the manufacture 
was extinguished. At Tours, where some 40,000 
persons had been employed in the silk manufac- 
ture, the number fell to little more than 4000; 

* At a later date the number was put at four hundred 
thousand. 


408 


THE OED CHItEAU. 


and instead of 8000 looms at work, there re- 
mained only about 100; while of 800 mills, 730 
were closed. Of the 400 tanneries which had be- 
fore enriched Lorraine, Weiss says there remained 
but 54 in 1698. The population of Nantes, one 
of the most prosperous cities of France, was re- 
duced from 80,000 to less than one-half; and a 
blow was struck at its prosperity from which it 
has not to this day recovered. 

^^Of about 12,000 artisans employed in the 
silk manufacture at Lyons, about 9000 fled into 
Switzerland and other countries. The industry 
of the place was for a time completely prostrated. 
More than a hundred years passed before it was 
restored to its former prosperity.’^ 

CHURCHES OF THE DESERT. 

“Although Protestantism seemed to be utterly 
stamped out in France during the century which 
followed the revocation of the Edict of Nantes — 
although its ministers were banished, its churches 
and schools suppressed and it was placed entirely 
beyond the pale of the law — it nevertheless con- 
tinued to have an active existence. Many of the 
banished ministers from time to time returned 
secretly to minister to their flocks, and were 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


409 


seized and suffered death in consequence, as 
many as twenty-nine Protestant pastors having 
been hanged between 1684 and 1762. During 
the same period thousands of their followers were 
sent to the galleys and died there. The names of 
fifteen hundred and forty-six of these illustrious 
galley-slaves are given in For gats pour la Foi, 
but the greater number have been long forgotten 
on earth. The principal offence for which they 
were sent to the galleys was attending the Prot- 
estant meetings, which continued to be held ; for 
the Protestants, after the revocation, constituted 
a sort of underground church, regularly organ- 
ized, though its meetings were held by night, in 
forests, in caves, among the hills, or in unsus- 
pected places even in the heart of large towns and 
cities, in all parts of France. The ‘ Churches of 
the Desert,' as they were called, continued to exist 
down to the period of the French Revolution, 
when Protestantism in France was again allowed 
openly to show itself.’' 

GOOD OUT OF EVIL. 

“ The flight of the French Protestants exercised 
a highly important influence on European poli- 
tics. Among its other effects, it contributed to 
35 


410 


THE OLD chateau. 


establish religious and political freedom in Swit- 
zerland, and to render it in a measure the Patmos 
of Europe; it strengthened the foundations of 
liberty in the then comparatively insignificant 
electorate of Brandenburg, which has since be- 
come developed into the great monarchy of 
Prussia; it fostered the strength and increased 
the political power and commercial wealth of the 
States of Plolland, and it materially contributed 
to the success of the English devolution of 1688 
and to the establishment of the British Constitu- 
tion on its present basis.’^ 

HUGUENOT SETTLEMENTS IN ENGLAND. 

The immigration and settlement in England 
of Huguenot merchants, manufacturers and arti- 
sans exercised a still greater influence on English 
industry than the immigration of French literati 
and divines did upon English literature, large 
and happy as was this influence. 

It is computed that about one hundred thou- 
sand French manufacturers and workmen fled 
into England in consequence of the Revocation, 
besides those who took refuge in Switzerland, 
Germany and Holland. When the Huguenot 
employers shut up their works in France their 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 411 

men usually prepared to follow them. They 
converted what they could into money, whatever 
the loss might be, and made for the coast, accom- 
panied by their families. The paper-makers of 
Angoumois left their mills; the silk-makers of 
Touraine left their looms and the tanners their 
pits ; the vine-dressers and farmers of Saintonge, 
Poitou and La Rochelle left their vineyards, their 
farms and their gardens, and looked out into 
the wide world, seaward, for a new home and a 
refuge, where they might work and worship in 
peace. 

“ The principal immigration into England was 
from Normandy and Brittany. Upward of ten 
thousand of the industrial class left Rouen, and 
several thousand persons set out from Caen, 
leaving that city to solitude and poverty. The 
whole Protestant population of Coutances emi- 
grated, and fine linen manufactures of the place 
were at once extinguished. There was a similar 
flight of masters and men from Elboeuf, Alen9on. 
Havre and other northern towns. The makers 
of white linen cloths left Brittany and Maine, and 
went over to England to carry on their manufac- 
tures there. The provinces farther north also 
contributed largely to swell the stream of immi- 


412 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


gration into England : the cloth-makers departed 
from Amiens, Abbeville and Doiillens ; the gauze- 
makers and lace-makers from Lille and Valen- 
ciennes, and artisans of all kinds from the various 
towns and cities of the interior.’^ 

HUGUENOT SETTLEMENTS IN IRELAND. 

‘^It had long been the policy of the English 
monarchs to induce foreign artisans to settle in 
Ireland and establish new branches of skilled 
industry there. It was hoped that the Irish 
people might be induced to follow their example, 
and that thus the unemployed population of that 
country, instead of being a source of national 
poverty and weakness, might be rendered a source 
of national wealth and strength. 

Many of the French refugees, so soon as they 
landed in England, were forwarded into Ireland, 
at the expense of the state. In 1674 the Irish 
Parliament passed an act offering letters of nat- 
uralization to the refugees, and free admission to 
all corporations. The then viceroy, the Duke of 
Ormond, zealously encouraged this policy, and 
under his patronage colonies of French refugees 
were planted at Dublin, Waterford, Cork, Kil- 
kenny, Lisburn and Portarlington, where they 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


413 


introduced glove-making, silk-weaving, lace-mak- 
ing and manufactures of cloth and linen. 

The refugees who settled at Dublin estab- 
lished themselves for the most part in ‘ The 
Liberties,^ where they began the manufacture of 
tabinet, since more generally known as ‘ Irish 
poplin.^ 

But the northern counties of Down and An- 
trim were, more than any other parts of Ireland, 
regarded as the sanctuary of the refugees. There 
they found themselves among men of their own 
religion — mostly Scotch Calvinists, wdio had fled 
from the Stuart persecutions in Scotland to take 
refuge in the comparatively unmolested districts 
of Ulster. Lisburn, formerly called Linsnagar- 
vey, about ten miles south-west of Belfast, was one 
of the favorite settlements of the refugees. The 
place had been burnt to the ground in the civil 
war of 1641 ; but, with the help of the refugees, 
it was before long restored to more than its former 
importance, and shortly became one of the most 
prosperous towns in Ireland.’^ 

PORTA RLINGTON. 

‘^Another colony of the refugees was established 
at Portarlington, which town they may almost be 


414 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


said to have founded. We have already referred 
to the circumstances connected with the formation 
of this colony by the Marquis de Riivigny, cre- 
ated earl of Galway, to whom William granted 
the estate of Portarlington, which had become 
forfeited to the Crown by the treason and out- 
lawry of Sir Patrick Grant, its former owner. 
Although the grant was revoked by the English 
Parliament, and the earl ceased to own the Port- 
arlington estate, he nevertheless continued to take 
the same warm interest as before in the prosperity 
of the refugee colony. 

‘‘ When they first came into the neighborhood, 
the town of Portarlington could scarcely be said 
to exist. The village of Cootletoodra, as it was 
formerly called, was only a collection of miserable 
huts unfit for human residence; and until the 
dwellings designed for the reception of the exiles 
by the earl of Galway could be built they resided 
in the adjoining villages of Doolough, Monas- 
terevin, Cloneygown and the ancient village of 
Lea. 

“ The new Portarlington shortly became the 
model town of the district. The dwellings of 
the strangers were distinguished for their neatness 
and comfort, and their farms and gardens were 


HISTORIC STATEMENTS. 


415 


patterns of tidiness and high culture. They in- 
troduced new fruit trees from abroad ; among 
others, the black Italian walnut and the jargon- 
elle pear, specimens of which still flourish at 
Portarlington in vigorous old age. The original 
planter of these trees fought at the Boyne as an 
ensign in the regiment of La Melonni^re. The 
immigrants also introduced the ‘esj^alier’ with 
great success, and their fruit became widely cele- 
brated. Another favorite branch of culture was 
flowers, of which they imported many new sorts, 
while their vegetables were unmatched in Ireland. 

‘‘The exiles formed a highly select society, 
composed as it was of ladies and gentlemen of 
high culture, of pure morals and of gentle birth, 
so different from the roistering Irish gentry of 
the time. Though they had suffered grievous 
wrongs at the hands of their country, they were 
contented, cheerful and even gay. Traditions 
still exist of the military refugees, in their scarlet 
cloaks, sitting in groups under the old oaks in 
the market-place, sipping tea out of their small 
china cups. 

“The refugees, as was their invariable practice 
where they settled in sufficient numbers, early 
formed themselves into a congregation at Port- 


416 


THE OLD CHATEAU. 


arliiigton, and a church was erected for their 
accommodation, in which a long succession of 
able ministers officiated, the last of whom was 
Charles de Vignolles, afterward dean of Ossory. 
The service was conducted in French down to 
the year 1817, since which it has been discon- 
tinued, the language having by that time become 
an almost unknown tongue in the neighborhood.^^ 


THE END. 


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